on the edge of a golden world
by writendelete
Summary: After an act of butchery, Klaus sets out to conquer the throne from a feeble king and the queen who wishes to rule through him. In a world where vampires and werewolves are constantly vying for power and witches are all but shunned, Klaus is willing to tear the country apart to marry Bonnie Bennett, the witch who saved his life. [KLONNIE]
1. I - Rebellion

_Wiltshire, England, 1460_

Their father, the Duke of Somerset, is no more. They learn of his passing when Sir John Beaufort, atop his horse, comes galloping onto the grounds. Red face stricken with terror, sprinkles of white snow against his clothes and disheveled dark brown hair, Niklaus knows what has occurred before Sir John gathers his breath to speak.

Ambushed by King Richard's forces. Or rather, the Queen's. All of England knows that the dimwitted king is controlled by his wife. And his wife, the distasteful daughter from the Duke of Lorraine, is intent on suppressing any challenger who may be a threat to her son. So, their father, who had a direct claim to the throne _and_ a sharp mind – unlike the king- was butchered.

While he's never harbored the most amicable feelings toward his father- Mikael was too fond of whoring and could never hide his preference for Elijah – Niklaus sees red at the thought of the Queen celebrating their downfall.

Head placed on a spike, adorned by a paper crown. They wished to humiliate him even in death and to discourage others from laying a challenge.

Niklaus has never been one to bow and do what he's told, much to his mother's and tutors' consternation. Unlike Elijah, the proud and proper heir, he enjoys doing the exact opposite of what is expected. So, there is only one decision in his mind, only one course of action.

Elijah, now the Duke of Somerset and ever the pacifist, disagrees with him.

"We shall go to war and become rebels to what purpose? Spill more blood and cause more grief to our mother who lays in bed mourning the death of her husband? That is not the answer, brother."

Klaus releases a dry laughter. Even after a direct hit to their family, Elijah continues to believe in diplomacy.

"The Queen ordered the attack because she knew father was to succeed the king over her son. She means to get rid of anyone who threatens his place on the throne. What do you imagine she will do to us?"

"They wouldn't dare."

"Dare? Father had his head placed on a pike for all to see. What stops them from taking our lands and titles or throwing us in prison? We have a great claim to the throne and people whisper. They wonder if the boy is to be as incompetent as his father."

"If we go to war against the crown-" Elijah starts but dares not to voice the words They know the faith of those who rebel.

"We will not lose and you shall become king, brother," Niklaus says with such certainty that for a second he sounds like a seasoned warrior and not the young man of sixteen who is plotting against the crown.

"I have no wish to become the king, brother. I could barely stand court as it was. If we do this, you must be the king and sit on the throne as father's heir," Elijah tells him, keeping a firm hand on Klaus' shoulder.

"Elijah, you are the Duke of Somerset and father's heir. The Lords will not answer the call to arms to put a second son on the throne," he argues. The thought of being king does not displease him as it does Elijah, and he would certainly be a better ruler than Richard, the lunatic. However, he is a realist and sees the trouble with Elijah's plan.

"The Queen is a foreigner with a distaste for England, the King is a man who barely possesses half of his wit. I believe the Lords will be far more agreeable than you may believe, Niklaus."

He chuckles into his glass of ale, feeling surprised that he can still keep his good humor in this situation.

"I will speak to our cousin, and I am certain that he will support us in this. Will be the one to spearhead our cause, brother? And sit on the throne if all goes well?"

"Aye, I will, brother. Let's topple the King and avenge father."

* * *

 _St. Albans, England, 1462_

As it turns out, the Lords are more than pleased to rally behind the sons of the Duke of Somerset. There is some outcry over the fact that the rightful heir is not to take the throne, but it is quickly snuffed out as they see Niklaus' prowess on the battlefield.

His physiology of both vampire and werewolf, an anomaly in the family, allows him to be faster and sharper than those around him. Mr. Darby has always praised his ability with a sword – the ax is a favorite of his, though – and it seems that his tutoring has been effective.

Even though all brothers are green in battle, they experience nothing but success against their enemy's armies. Elijah has a keen mind for strategy; Kol harbors a fury within him like no other, which makes him even more vicious, and Finn surprises them all. His brother, usually so quiet, turns into a senseless beast when confronting their foes.

And confront their foes, they do. In so many different battles and places that it all starts to blend together. The fields are the same- ever so green in the beginning and then stained with a dull shade of red after they leave. The queen's soldiers look the same as well. All clad in chainmail, weary faces and flanked by the lords who still fight for Richard.

This battle is different, somehow. Perhaps it is because they are so close to London, so close to getting rid of Richard and his detestable queen.

For the first time, Klaus is wounded in battle as he leads his division to attack the Earl of Ormond's men. A well-placed blow by a sharp arrow. He barely feels it at first; his blood still running hot after another victory.

They are in the camp, huddled around the fire as the rest of the men get drunk on ale and trade stories of home when Klaus collapses onto the cold ground.

* * *

 _St. Albans, England, 1462_

"Are you feeling better, your Grace?"

Klaus awakens to a soft tone; the shock of hearing such a feminine voice causes his eyes to fly open. After months of war to no end, he has grown used to having nothing but men around him. Some of the soldiers favored brothels, looking for some company to satisfy their blood lust. Klaus, however, decided not to take any whores for himself in time of battle.

The woman in front of him looks like no whore from the brothel. Green eyes and bronzed skin, she is different from any girl he has ever seen in Wiltshire or London when he visited court. Usually, those girls are as pale as the full moon and wear their hair done in an elaborate fashion. This one is donned in a modest blue dress, dark hair pushed to the side in a braid.

"Where-" he asks, moving to sit up, only to be stopped by a dull pain irradiating from his abdomen.

"Shh, you must try not to move," she says while rushing to his bedside, and blushes the most captivating shade of pink. "You were injured and need your rest to fully recover, your Grace."

"The arrow," he murmurs; the memory of the sharp pain and the blood seeping through his chainmail comes to the forefront of his mind.

"It pierced through the skin and you lost blood."

Klaus looks down to see the white bandage neatly wrapped around his middle. It is obvious the work of someone who knows what they're doing. He frowns. Why is a strange woman attending to him instead of Master Cramner, his trusted physician?

"Master Cramner was very concerned with your wound and requested my assistance, seeing as I am.." she trails off; looking down at her hands with clear hesitation.

"Are you what? A little spy placed in my ranks by the queen?" Klaus wonders as he openly studies her.

She is pretty, just as pretty as the pink flowers that bloom in the spring back in Wiltshire, and has a kind smile. Too young and gentle to be a spy, he supposes.

"No, your Grace. I do not believe I have the nerve to be a spy," she answers, and he notices the slight tremble to her hands. "I am a witch. Master Cramner could not help you by himself, and he asked for my help. I- I healed you, your Grace."

Klaus cocks his head to the side in curiosity. A witch? He has never seen a witch in his years at Wiltshire. Klaus heard plenty of tales about them- a powerful lot who became too greedy with time, his tutors used to say. Some of his books say witches are malefic creatures, and yet Klaus cannot see any evil within her.

"You are a witch? How?"

"I do not know how to explain, your Grace. I was born a witch."

In that moment, Klaus feels like a stupid boy who asked a stupid question, and not the man who is close to becoming the next king of England. He blames his silly question on distraction. He's gotten distracted by the green of her eyes. Surely a witch could not be this beautiful?

"Are you displeased that a witch has treated you?"

"You healed me when Master Cramner could not, did you not?" he questions; confused by her behavior. Most physicians would puff out their chests in pride for saving a nobleman; anxious to bask in royal favor. She almost seems afraid of him.

"Most lords do not appreciate having a witch this close to them. They fear I may place a curse on them."

He chuckles despite the dull pain on his body.

"A tiny thing such as yourself?"

"Even the smallest of witches can wield a tremendous amount of power, your Grace," she says, sounding a little indignant, much like a child who was crossed.

"Well, did you?

"Did I what?"

"Place a curse on me? Am I to turn into a toad by sunrise? Or perhaps into a dog? I have always felt some affinity to the greyhounds in the kennel back home," he quips, strangely pleased when she laughs.

"I may be young, but I am not so foolish as to place a curse on the king," she assures him while averting his gaze.

It is a usual occurrence; most people seem to be intimidated by his presence. To be quite honest, he has grown to enjoy that, as it makes him feel like a powerful man and not only the second son of the Duke of Somerset. Yet, he finds himself frowning as she does it.

Klaus pushes himself into a sitting position; his face a few inches from hers. So steady before, her heartbeat changes pace and becomes erratic. The sound of the blood rushing through her body is as enchanting as the lute the musicians play.

"Are you certain you haven't put a spell on me?"

"I am quite certain that I only conjured a healing spell, your Grace. Why do you ask? Do you feel unwell?" she asks, moving to place a warm hand on his forehead.

"Why do I feel like I cannot think?" he questions, feeling shivers going down his spine.

"The tip of the arrow was soaked with poison, you may be feeling its effects, still. It shall pass, your Grace,"

It makes sense, but he knows it is more than that. Klaus feels like he is losing part of his wits, of his control. Perhaps the full moon is close to gracing the sky, and that is to blame for the strange spirits he finds himself in.

"I-" Klaus begins to say, but closes his mouth as the words do not come to him. His head is only filled with confusion as he attempts to understand why this girl affects him so.

"Your Grace should continue to rest. I am certain that all of your men are anxious to see you in good health."

"The lords are anxious to know their efforts have not been wasted. I cannot die before the crown is placed upon my head, and even then I may not die. Not without an heir," Klaus comments with a humorless laugh. Two years into this war, he is wise enough to know the Lords are mostly worried about their own heads. They will not allow him to fail.

"You will not die. Not from this, at least."

"Such comforting words to a man who will ride into battle soon. I do not believe you make a very fine nurse, as you set out to break my poor heart," he places a hand on his bare chest; the fake grimace of pain dissolving into a grin. She lets out a hearty chuckle that fills the silence of his tent.

"I am not a nurse, your Grace, and I am sure that a broken heart is not going to wound you. All of the lords praise your strength, as you are both vampire and werewolf."

"Do you wish for my victory?" Klaus wonders; the thought of her cheering for the enemy eating at him. She's healed him and showing concern, but he knows people can turn their coats as easily as they breathe.

"I wish for peace, for England to be a better place. I do not have an affinity for either blue or red; both vampires and werewolves hate my kind," she answers with a quiet voice, looking at anywhere but him.

Klaus wants to argue, but he cannot. After all, did he not grow up to stories of bad and cursed witches?

"I do not believe you to be a bad person, your Grace. You are fighting for what you think is right. Here," she says and presses an item onto his open hand. "This shall help to keep you safe on the battlefield. Have this with you at all times."

Klaus studies the amulet. A small vial with some clear stones inside. One wouldn't spare a second thought about this, but Klaus can just sense its power.

"Why would you do this for me if you do not hold an affinity for either side?"

"I did not know I would become fond of the red king. I do not wish for you to die in battle, your Grace. It is a simple protection spell, to ward off those who wish you harm."

Warmth spreads through him in a way he has not experienced in years. Not since he was a child and tamed his prized stallion much to the surprise of their father, not since they all looked at him as if he was as good as Elijah. This time, the sensation has nothing to do with his ego, as it is only caused by the beautiful girl who nursed him back to health.

"I must go. I will pray for you to be victorious, your Grace," Bonnie whispers with a hesitant smile and moves to leave, but he takes her hand to stop her.

"You have to tell me your name, my lady. I must see you again," Klaus requests, feeling blinded by a sense of desperation. He cannot ride into battle without knowing her name, without tasting it on his lips.

"Bonnie Bennett," Bonnie answers with a small curtsey as she pushes a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"I shall summon you to court when I am king, Lady Bennett. I am forever indebted to you."

"There is no debt, your Grace. Just keep your amulet close to you."

When Niklaus sleeps that night, he knows he should dream of the glory to be found in battle, of the crown to be placed on his head, of his sweet revenge. He can only dream of Bonnie Bennett and her green eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: So, something is wrong with me because I have two stories to finish and I should not be posting another one, but this idea would not leave me until I started writing it. I've fallen into a War of the Roses/ Tudors rabbit hole, and then I had to put my Klonnie spin because they are my babies. Basically, history inspired me, but this will not follow accurately follow history, I've kinda** taken **everything I love and put it together. Let me know what you think!**


	2. II - King of England

_Hertfordshire, England, 1462_

"Are you mad, child? Leaving home when there is a war raging outside?" Sheila Bennett cries out when she sees her granddaughter; pulling her into the house by the arm with mighty strength.

"Grandmother, you hurt me!"

"This is nothing compared to what might have happened had you been captured by the Pretender's forces, they are rogue beasts, all of those!"

Bonnie's veins fill with ice when she realizes whom her Lady Grandmother is referring to. Niklaus, the very same man she has saved from death, the very same man who is probably in battle at that moment, fighting to become king. It is no surprise that Grandmother sees him as the pretender, for she favors King Richard. Yet, Bonnie cannot help but want to defend him.

 _A few hours with the man and already smitten_ , a voice in her head mocks her, and for that, Bonnie has no reply. She may not be smitten like the girls in the village or even the young ladies that attend to her, but she is charmed. How can she not, when Niklaus – no, not just Niklaus. His Grace – is easily the most handsome man she has ever seen?

"Where were you? I have asked for all of the men to go and search for you and nobody found a trace of you. Some thought you were dead!" Sheila says; the grip on Bonnie's arms so tight that her knuckles begin to turn white. Her lady Grandmother, who is usually so strong and composed, trembles; some tears escaping from her eyes.

Bonnie regrets her ill conceived decision of leaving her home in the middle of the night in search of her own mother, the lady Abigail. She saw some letters, heard some whispers in the market concerning the whereabouts of her estranged mother, and saw fit to investigate the matter herself. Needless to say, there was no Lady Abigail. Her entire journey was for nothing. Well, not nothing. She's saved the King's life, after all.

"I have heard news of my Lady mother. It is said she is currently residing in St. Albans."

"Have you lost your wits, child? Seeking out Abigail in St. Albans? That is where the Pretender's army is stationed!"

"Why must you call him the pretender, Grandmother?" Bonnie asks in curiosity as Mary, one of the ladies, undoes the lacings of dress.

"Because a man calling himself the king does not make him so. Richard is the king and this pretender can only bring a war to England," Sheila answers in a hardened voice while fussing over Bonnie. Her eyes narrow, and with that one look, Bonnie feels naked and exposed. "You are a girl of fifteen, why do you concern yourself with politics now?"

"I-" Bonnie stutters, not able to think of a single reasonable answer. As she has told the king, Bonnie has never shown any inclination to either side, even with the country so divided. "I saw him, grandmother."

Sheila takes a subtle step back as shock colors her face for a few seconds. She quickly recovers from it, as she ever does, and offers a blank expression.

"Leave us," Sheila commands the two serving girls, who quickly leave in a flurry of curtsies and murmurs of 'my lady'. Bonnie feels her heart skipping a beat when her Grandmother turns to her. "You saw the pretender? How?"

"Edward accompanied me to St. Albans. We were in a tavern when a physician came, asking for anyone with healing abilities."

"You revealed your powers to him? Do you know what the Duke of Somerset used to do to witches?" Sheila questions; her blank expression contorting into a picture of desperation.

It was not long ago that her dearest friend, the Lady Isabelle, was killed on the orders of that brute Somerset. That family could not be trusted.

"He was nothing but kind to me, grandmother," Bonnie assures in a small voice; her mind wandering to the memory of his blue eyes. "He is not a bad man, I know it in my heart."

Bonnie feels the change in the air around them as soon as the words leave her lips. It is hard to breathe, as the room becomes uncomfortably warm, even though the November weather outside is cold and crisp. She dares a glance in her grandmother's direction to see her astonished.

"In your heart?" Sheila repeats with a shake of the head, keeping her eyes to the bright flames in the burning fireplace. "Your father is the Ambassador to France on King Richard's command, his father restored our lands and titles. You may not fall in love with a vampire king!"

A dry laugh echoes in the silent room and it takes Bonnie a few seconds to realize the sound came from her, for she is too surprised by her grandmother's words. Love? Bonnie does not feel love for Niklaus, how can she when she has just met him?

 _You may not love him, but you did gift him with a protection charm._

"I held you in my arms when you first came into this world and raised you when Abigail left. There is no thought in your head that you can conceal from me, Bonnie," Sheila says, and Bonnie feels like a foolish little girl who was charmed by a handsome highborn Lord. Just like Bess and Annie. "Now tell me, did anything happen between you and this _king_? There are many rumors of his penchant for bedding ladies."

Bonnie feels the blood rushing to her face until her cheeks are burning. It should not surprise her that a man like Niklaus is not chaste, but she did not ever expect her grandmother to doubt her own virtue.

"I only healed him, Grandmother. Nothing inappropriate happened, I swear!" Bonnie cries out as she laced her hands together in a beseeching demeanor.

"Do not fret, I believe you child, but others might have the wrong idea of a lady being alone in the company of a womanizing man who calls himself king."

"I am sorry for leaving, Grandmother. I meant no harm," Bonnie finally says after contemplating her grandmother's words.

Did the King mean to have anything more between them? He behaved honorably while in her presence, but then again, Bonnie does not know how a man who wants to have a woman behaves.

"You are still young, Bonnie, but I have yet to see a boy or a man who can walk past you. I implore you to be careful, child."

* * *

 _Yorkshire, England, 1463_

 _By God, they have done it._

The words echo inside Klaus' head as they approach Ripley Castle; a sensation of amazement and exhaustion seeping through his bones. It is a wonder he is still atop his horse instead of falling on the ground. His men look the same; all battered and filthy, appearing so mortal and weak that one would not ever believe them to be an army of vampires.

Despite their victory, they ride in silence. It was a hard fought battle, one they almost lost had it not been for his cousin's reinforcements. For a moment in the heat of battle, Klaus even believed the Queen's army - allied with the Scots - would get the better of them. The band of werewolves seemed to be much faster; so strong that one would think the full moon was glowing in the dark sky, conferring them with magical resilience. Klaus knows he was close to meeting his death when Scottish army broke their line and one of the mongrels set its sights on him.

Some would have said it was an honorable death on the battlefield, but for Klaus, it would be nothing but a bitter end. The small trinket hanging from his neck, tied by a leather string, feels warm against his skin. In the gelid February air, it brings him some comfort. The memory of the beautiful lady who has gifted him the item comes to his mind. She has kept her word and protected his life even now.

"Whatever brings a smile to your face, brother?" Kol asks as he inches his head in curiosity.

Strangely enough, his younger brother does not look the least bothered by all of the horrors around them. If it was not for the blood staining his face and armor, one would not believe he has fought in a battle.

"We just defeated Richard's forces and I was proclaimed King. Is that not a reason to rejoice?" Klaus says with an easy smile, deciding against telling his brother the true cause for his sudden good humor.

That secret is to be his and his alone, at least for this moment.

* * *

 _Hertfordshire, England, 1463_

Months have passed since Bonnie's chance encounter with the King; the ground is now covered by a blanket of thick, white snow instead of the colorful tapestry made by fallen autumn leaves. While Bonnie still thinks of the handsome king and his blue eyes, she obeys her Lady Grandmother and does not dare to speak a word of it to anyone.

" _These are trying times, child," Sheila said as she brushed Bonnie's hair. "Our friends will turn into foes if they believe there is something to gain."_

Bonnie did not understand the meaning of her grandmother's words then, but now she does. Even though they are a family of witches, they still own a title, along with lands and their property. Some of the other Lords have never accepted her father as their peer, and would not be above using silly gossip to favor themselves. And what would be a better gossip than a nobleman's daughter committing treason?

'It will only be treason if Richard wins,' a voice in Bonnie's head says, far more bold than she could ever dream of being. She has never ill-wished Richard or prayed for his defeat in battle, but perhaps they will be in better luck if Niklaus wins.

"Will you tell me my future?" Bonnie whispers as she sprinkles the dried betany over the basin filled with warm water. Before she can begin to chant the words of the spell, Bessie barges into the room.

"My lady, your Lady Grandmother has received a letter and now she is most distraught!"

"A letter? A letter from whom?" she asks, allowing Bessie to lead her by the hand.

"I do not know, my lady," Bessie says; her brown eyes wide. The blood in Bonnie's veins becomes as cold as the frozen waters of the river outside. If her Lady Grandmother, usually so composed, is distraught, then certainly the letter must spell doom.

"Grandmother, what is happening?" Bonnie asks as she enters her grandmother's solar.

"A letter came, from one of my cousins," Sheila says as she sits on the bench. "It appears that the Pretender won the battle at Towton and has been proclaimed king. Both Richard and Margaret have fled to Scotland."

Despite her Grandmother's somber voice, Bonnie cannot help the elation that comes to her with the news.

"And this upsets you so? Are they not merry news?" Bonnie questions, frowning when her Grandmother scoffs. "All of England says King Richard is a witless man, while the new king is strong!"

"Oh, my child, you have allowed the new king's comeliness to blind you," Grandmother murmurs, shaking her head in a disappointed manner. "We are witches, Bonnie! Our fortunes lie with an exiled king and I doubt the new king will show us the mercy we have been granted."

"Lady Grandmother, his Grace has assured me he will summon me to court. Our family will not suffer!"

"Those were the words from a grateful man who was about to ride into battle and who was captivated by your beauty. Not the words from a king."

As much as Bonnie wants to argue- her Lady Grandmother was _not_ there and didn't see him- she does not. Right now, her words will fall on deaf ears, as her grandmother seems to be in a world of her own. No doubt already concocting elaborate plans to ensure their survival.

"What are we to do, Grandmother?" Bonnie asks, clasping both hands together to keep them from trembling. It is no use, as they fail to over her, especially when her grandmother fails to answer. "Grandmother?"

"I have discussed the matter with your father, of what we were to do should this happen. We both agreed that you shall be safe in France, as a lady in waiting to Queen Charlotte."

The blood rushes to Bonnie's head and she feels faint. Out of all the possible outcomes, this is not one she has ever envisioned. Fleeing her home like an exile.

"France? Why? The king will-"

"The king is a boy who just had a crown placed on his head. His advisors will be the one making the decisions on his behalf," Sheila says, not unkindly but in a direct manner. She sighs when seeing Bonnie's eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her granddaughter is far too sweet for this world. "It will be just until we know what kind of king he will be. It may be for naught, as Richard could raise an army to get his crown back."

Even though Bonnie does not want to go to France and leave her home behind, she finds it that she wants another war to put Richard on the throne much less. For some reason Bonnie can't quite understand, she wants him to be the king.

"If they do not strip your father of his title, you will be the only daughter and heir of a nobleman. I cannot allow you to become a pawn in their wicked game."

Bonnie nods, and finally understands the reasoning behind her grandmother's actions. As a woman and a witch in a world of men, vampires, and werewolves, she would always be a chess piece. It was naïve of her to believe otherwise.

"When am I to leave, grandmother?" Bonnie asks as she wipes the tears that trail down her face; a sense of resignation dawning on her.

In time she will stop dreaming of a young king and his beautiful smile, and he shall become nothing but a memory.

* * *

 _Yorkshire, England, 1463_

"A toast to His Grace's most formidable victory in battle!" Sir John Ingleby cries out as he raises his cup, filled with a rich mixture of blood and an imported wine from Bordeaux. The rest of the men, pleased to finally have the comforts of a castle after months of skulking around, cheer loudly.

Such a delicacy as this would not ever be so freely wasted on so many men, but the Lord, drunk from all of the mead and wine consumed at supper, does not care. It is the victorious King of England, and it would do him well to garner his favor.

"I see Sir Ingleby is quite excited tonight," Elijah comments as he approaches his brother, who happens to be rather quiet for such a lively night of celebration. "What is the matter with you, brother? I would have expected you to be behaving like Kol at this occasion."

They both stare at their younger sibling, who happens to be enjoying himself; downing his cup of beer and nibbling on the neck of a servant girl.

"Aye, you told me I was to behave differently as king, did you not?" Klaus reminds him as he sips on the wine, savoring the sweet taste he hasn't appreciated in so long. "Besides. I fear there is not much celebrate as of yet. Richard could be raising an army with the help of the Scots. There is much to be done."

"Most of the lords who supported Richard are either dead or fled in disgrace. The threat has been neutralized for now," Elijah offers, hoping that it will lift his brother's spirits.

"And now comes the hardest part, I shall rule England," Klaus says in such a quiet tone that Elijah thinks those words are more to himself than others.

There is a sense of vulnerability within him and Elijah understands Klaus wishes that moment to be private. Out of all his siblings, Niklaus happens to be the proudest and hardened one.

"What name shall you rule under, brother?"

"I shall be known as Niklaus I, the founder of the Mikaelson dynasty. I want that bitch to hear my name and regret the day she hacked our father."

"We must have a coronation at once so they can proclaim your name!"

Both brothers turn their heads at the voice, sporting similar grins when they see the familiar figure enter the hall. Their dear cousin, the Earl of Warwick, looks just as merry as Sir Ingleby.

"Cousin! I did not expect to see you here!" Elijah greets as he walks up to him and clasps him on the shoulder. "How are you faring?"

"We have won, and Niklaus is to be the King of England. I am in great spirits!"

"We are most grateful to you, cousin, for I doubt we would have defeated Richard's army if not for your men," Klaus says without the bravado that one would expect from a young king who has won his crown. No, he is humbled as he knows none of this wouldn't be possible without their cousin.

"All I have wanted was a vampire king back on the throne, and I am overjoyed that it is one of my blood," Alaric Neville tells them as he accepts the cup of wine offered to him.

"I am sorry to disappoint, cousin, for you have put a hybrid on the throne," Klaus quips, grinning when he notices the frown on Elijah's face. "Is it not the truth, brother? I am what the physicians call a mystery of nature. I have to admit I quite like it, being stronger than the lot of you."

"And you are always so fond of reminding us," Elijah says, pleased that Niklaus has finally accepted his most peculiar nature.

It has been the cause for a lot of grief in their lives, as Father was never able to understand the reason why Niklaus was born a hybrid, even going as far as accusing Mother of making a cuckold of him.

"When are we to have the coronation, cousin?" Klaus asks as his mind turns to all of the affairs that need to be tended to.

"In a week's time. It is important we do not allow the momentum from our victory in battle to falter. London supports us, and we shall secure the confidence from the rest of the country," Alaric asserts; his stance reminding others why he has been awarded the epithet of 'Kingmaker'. "There is also the matter of your marriage."

"Marriage?" Klaus questions in a faint voice; so surprised by Warwick's words that he almost loses the grip on his wine cup. They have just fought a battle; surely this is not the most appropriate time for matchmaking. "So soon?"

"Niklaus, we need to make alliances if we are to return England to its glory. Richard's weakness and war have torn this country apart," Alaric attempts to explain as he sees the King's face contort into an unreadable expression. He knows Niklaus well enough to be sure he is not pleased.

"And you sound like you have an alliance in mind, cousin," Elijah comments; his eyes shifting from one man to another, not knowing how Niklaus would accept the news. His brother has always been the most rash, so there is no telling what he is to do.

"Princess Aurora of France."

"Louis' sister?" Elijah asks in confusion.

Although King Louis has not openly denounced them as rebels, it is clear that his true support lies with Richard. Most monarchs have failed to show support for their cause, as they were afraid it would seem as if they were condoning a rebellion against the Crown. Having Louis offer his eldest sister's hand in marriage to Niklaus is an astonishing development, and one that can only strengthen their positions.

"We can cement an alliance with France through this marriage and ensure that Margaret will not raise an army there."

Klaus sips on the wine, savoring the taste or the sweet drink mixed with blood. Oh, it has been too long since he last tasted fresh blood from a beautiful woman's neck.

"Will I not be allowed to choose my own wife?"

Both Alaric and Elijah chuckle at Niklaus' naiveté. As a second son, he has been many liberties, but as a king, he must bear the multiple duties that come with the crown.

"Your marriage isn't for you, Niklaus. It is for England. You can have as many mistresses as you wish, but know that this alliance is what we need," Alaric says, choosing his words carefully. The young king may be his cousin, almost like a brother to him, but he is still a king. "The Princess is rumored to be one of the most beautiful women in France."

Niklaus' lips curl ever so slightly at this piece of information, causing Alaric and Elijah to smirk. Perhaps Niklaus' weakness for the fairest sex will finally be put to good use.

"Proceed with the negotiations, then. Let us have a French alliance," Klaus finally says after a moment of silence.

The men cheer and as Klaus touches the amulet containing the protection charm, he cannot help the feeling that spreads through him. It is as if he has lost something precious, something he has not yet discovered.

* * *

 **A/N: So yeah, I'm kinda addicted to this universe and I can't stop writing this! Sorry for the lack of Klonnie, but don't worry, there will be plenty of Klonnie in the next chapter and that's when things will really pick up. Thank you so much for your reviews, it always makes me happy to see that people enjoy my stories and historical fiction.**


	3. III - France

_**Château d'Amboise, France, 1466**_

Much to Bonnie's surprise, she finds that the French court is not as unpleasant as she had feared. Sure, she is far from home and she misses her grandmother terribly, but she has grown used to life in court and would be hard pressed to change it. Queen Charlotte, while quite pious, is not the drab woman as the rumors have painted her. She is a gentle soul and a lover of arts and music. Her private chambers are often a lively place, with the musicians playing the lute or the cittern, and the ladies practicing their embroidery technique or their dancing. Most importantly, the French Queen does not seem to possess the same contempt for witches that so many nobles do.

"Oh, Bonnie! I have heard the most delightful news!" Lady Caroline Forbes, the daughter of a deceased vampire viscount and a human English lady, announces as she enters the Queen's chambers. With Queen Charlotte outside in her mid-morning walk in the gardens, the room is quiet as Bonnie practices her Spanish.

"What is it, Caro?" Bonnie asks as she smiles at her dear friend. Caroline is another reason that has made her stay in France even more pleasant, for she always brightens her day with her high spirits.

After a lonely childhood in Knebworth House wondering if her mother would ever come home to her, Bonnie had come to crave for some more company. She had her Lady Grandmother and her dear Bess, but she found herself very envious of others who had many siblings and a full house. Hers was quiet so often that Bonnie cannot help but enjoy her newfound life in France. She has not grown used to court gossip, something the French nobles seem to be so fond of, but she still loves the balls and the pretty dresses, as vain as it may seem.

"The King is hosting May Day celebrations and the English King is coming to sign a treaty. We are to go to Paris! Can you imagine, Bonnie?" Caroline sighs in delight as she plays with the ruffle on her sleeve.

Bonnie, for once, does not share the same delight at the idea of attending celebrations with the English court. Four years have passed since she was hastily sent to France as a way to ensure she wouldn't be used as a pawn or be left a destitute. She is now nineteen with her twentieth birthday approaching, a woman grown who should be married and have children of her own, but the memory of that moment with King still lingers in her mind.

After Niklaus won his crown and had his right to the throne recognized by Parliament, Bonnie foolishly expected her Grandmother to tell her she had been summoned to court. No such news arrived. What arrived, however, was a letter from Grandmother telling her of the King's marriage to Princess Aurora. Her grandmother was right, after all. The words the King uttered were just desperate words from a man who was about to ride into battle.

Bonnie was a naïve little girl who dreamed of a different life. Now that she is in France and has learned much, Bonnie cannot bear to even remember that side of her.

"I hear Paris is quite beautiful this time of the year," Bonnie says without exhibiting the same excitement as Caroline. "Do they know when we are to travel? I imagine there are quite the preparations to be made."

Caroline's eyes, so blue, gleam in nearly childlike anxiety. Even though Bonnie senses trepidation creeping up her spine at the thought of leaving the safe haven of Amboise, she can understand her friend. They have been outside the capital for much too long, and the ladies were certainly anxious to rejoin all of the activities in Paris.

"If they were to ask me, I would tell them we should go at once!" Caroline exclaims, pausing when she fails to see the dimmed glee in Bonnie. "What is it, Bonnie? This could be a good thing. It is said the whole English court is coming. Perhaps we will find ourselves some husbands!"

Well versed in good manners, Bonnie is able to school her features into remaining amiable, even when she wants to grimace. The thought of finding an English husband is most unpleasant to her.

"I do not wish to return to England, Caro. They are not kind to witches there," Bonnie settles for that, knowing it is not a lie. English nobles would never be as kind as Queen Charlotte and the ladies at Amboise. No, in England, she would always be their inferior.

"We will be together, and I will not allow anyone to be unkind to you, I promise," Caroline says with so much defiance and courage in her tone that Bonnie does not have the heart to do anything but nod. "We shall have the best of times!"

Bonnie does not believe their Paris celebrations will be as merry as Caroline expects, but she still smiles. Even if all goes unwell, she will have her friend by her side. At least she won't have to be alone anymore.

* * *

 _ **Westminster Palace, London, 1466**_

Another summer is to come. They have endured a cold, hard winter, which Klaus has taken as a sign of more fortuitous things to come. After all, save for some rebellions near the Scottish borders and a few thwarted plots brewing in Cheshire, they have been blessed by peace in the kingdom. No longer battered by civil war, England has begun to recover financially; resuming their trade with Burgundy and France, and starting a new alliance with the wealthy House of Sforza through Elijah's marriage to Gianna Sforza, the daughter of the Duke of Milan.

Klaus knows he should have been ecstatic. He is the King, loved by most of his subjects – some of the werewolves are still apprehensive and not willing to divest of their loyalty to Richard – and is finally bringing England to its golden age. Yet, something still dismays him.

He is childless. Apart from a bastard son he has sired back in Wiltshire, not one child of his still lives. In these three years, Aurora has swollen many times, bringing them joy and hope they would finally have a Mikaelson prince. However, their hopes were dashed time after time. All of her pregnancies ended in miscarriages or worse, stillbirths. Only their tiny daughter was born strong enough to draw her first breath, but not enough to live for more than two days.

His heart weighs heavily as he thinks of this matter. Is it possible that he's been cursed by God? He's killed so many men in these battles, so it's quite possible that he's incurred His wrath, and for this, he would not have any heirs. At the same time, Klaus sees many of the Lords that fought alongside him blessed with sons and daughters, and questions the reason for his lack of heirs.

"What troubles you, brother? I believe one could hear your thoughts all the way in the Tower," Elijah questions with his usual calm voice, jostling him out of his unpleasant reflections.

"My mind is never calm, brother. Even with years of peace, there is still much to do," Klaus says as he attempts to focus his mind on anything other than the issue that haunts him. "Tell me, how is newlywed life? I was quite surprised to see you dancing and drinking with your Italian bride."

Elijah, who has always been a picture of propriety and intent on showing no emotion, seemed to be quite enraptured with his new wife; a surprise to all of them. Part of Klaus envies his brother. While he is expected to sire the next Duke of Somerset, he will not have to worry about England falling into civil war should he fail to do so.

Even though he technically has heirs - his brothers Finn and Kol are the first in the line of succession - Klaus knows the werewolves will use any excuse to take up arms and regain the throne.

"You wound me by painting me as a cold and unfeeling man, brother," Elijah japes, placing a hand over his chest in mocking pain. "I may not have your same inclination for the fairer sex, but I believe I am quite a suitable husband."

"I meant no offense, brother," Klaus croons with an easy chuckle, before turning to the pile of parchments that still have their seals intact. "Why did I ever agree to sail to Paris for May Day celebrations?" he questions with a sigh, already exhausted by all of the preparations necessary to take the whole court to Paris.

"Because we are to improve our relations with France. King Louis was a little displeased of our closeness to Burgundy, so this should appease him for some time. Besides, I believe it will be a useful distraction from the Queen's …" Elijah trails off; knowing the subject to be a delicate one.

The whole court is abuzz with the Queen's latest failure in providing the so desired Mikaelson prince, and Elijah knows a change will do all of them some good.

"Sometimes I wonder if I was cursed," Klaus confesses in a low voice, so quietly that Elijah has to tilt his head to hear him. "So many lost children. Not even a healthy girl. Louis has two sons and three girls! Even Mad Richard was able to put a boy in that bitch Margaret."

The grief and dismay emanating from Klaus are palpable, so thick that Elijah can feel it within himself. He knows that beneath his brother's blunt words lie insecurity and fear. They may have had peace for these years, but they were not fools. While Richard, Margaret, and their son are still at large, their security would be compromised. And that security becomes even more tenuous by the lack of an heir to consolidate their new dynasty.

"Brother," Elijah starts, at a loss of what to say. What _can_ be said at this time? That he will pray for heirs, that he and the Queen are still so very young and have time to produce many children? All of these words sound wrong to him.

"We have sent for a witch, and she concocted many fertility spells and potions, and yet. Perhaps it is my fault for being a hybrid. I am an aberration just like Father said, after all."

The memory of their father's cruel words makes both brothers cringe ever so slightly. Surrounded by guards, they do not wish to show their pain. After all, the two highest men in court should not demonstrate their weaknesses. Their private memory is to be just that, private.

"You must not think this way, brother. Let us go to Paris and celebrate for a little while. It will do you and the Queen some good. Perhaps you will be christening your son in next year's May Day."

"Aye, brother," Niklaus assents with a nod, even though he still harbors a bitter taste in his mouth. The taste of failure.

Elijah is the wisest man he knows. If his brother believes there is still a chance he will be successful in forming his dynasty, it is best that he trusts him.

* * *

 _ **Palais du Louvre, France, 1466**_

There is much pomp and circumstance when the English court finally arrives in the city. It seems to Bonnie that both kings are anxious to impress each other. Since it is King Louis - quite the frugal man who even preferred not to keep the court in a Palace and dress in his hunting garb - Bonnie has expected much more simplicity for this occasion. She happens to be mistaken.

Even Queen Charlotte, along with all of the French nobles, is surprised when seeing the newly renovated quarters of the palace. Stretched across the borders of the Seine, the Louvre boasts windows carved in elaborate designs to bring more sunlight into the rooms and walls covered by colorful and rich tapestries. Despite her initial reservations about leaving the quiet comfort of the Château, Bonnie has grown to enjoy Paris. There is plenty of wine and laughter, the rooms are filled with the sound of cheerful music and the nobles dance and play cards until the wee hours of the morning.

Bonnie, who has gotten used to a lively yet somewhat modest household, finds that she cannot help the amazement in her eyes at seeing the festivities in full bloom. She also cannot help the way her heartbeat quickens when she sees _him_ , even though she does not understand why that happens.

Niklaus is now an anointed king and not just a rebel fighting to enact revenge, looking resplendent in a regal purple waistcoat and a glittering golden crown. Bonnie, however, can only see the overconfident boy she healed.

As Bonnie has feared, she feels like a little girl, swooning over a man who happens to be her king. And she loathes it.

* * *

 _ **Palais du Louvre, France, 1466**_

Despite the most luxurious celebrations filled with Bordeaux wine, plenty of food and beautiful women dressed in their scandalous French styled gowns, Klaus finds it hard to enjoy himself. He is far from a dull man, widely known for enjoying the simple pleasures of life, yet his mind still reels. Both Elijah and Stefan have urged him to leave his issues aside once they set sail from England, and he has attempted to do so. He's danced with Aurora, feasted on the delicious venison and drank goblets of wine. He has done everything he could to distract himself, but Klaus can only think of his disappointment.

Louis, the insufferable prick, has gone to great lengths to show all of his wealth and his dynasty. Four children, two boys who passed infancy and looked as healthy as an ox, have been trotted out to show the future of France. And to poke at him, Klaus is sure. Even though they have been able to establish an alliance through his marriage, the wounds of the long-lasting war between England and France run deep.

It has been a long time since he's felt inferior to another man – the last time being his conflicting emotions towards Elijah, all caused by their father – and unsurprisingly, he does not appreciate it. He is a king, conquered the throne after winning battles when he was seventeen. How could he feel envious of Louis?

The sweet wine turns bitter as it coats his lips. The feast, so rich that has dazzled many of his courtiers, now feels quite uninteresting to his eyes. Dull. It is all so dull.

Until something catches his eye, that is. Through the glittering gold of all the silks and jewels, she shines. There is something familiar about her, something he cannot comprehend. The mystery dissolves when he notices her eyes.

As green as the emerald grass that covers the grounds of the gardens at Westminster Palace.

Good God, he's found her. For a while, Niklaus has believed he would never come to see his savior again. His own inaction was to blame; that and his cousin's counsel.

Alaric was prompt in squashing any intention he ever had of summoning her to court. The presence of a young witch in such a new court would only lead to trouble, he argued. At the time, his crown was not fully secure ass they needed Parliament to recognize his claim to the throne as a birthright, not as conquest. They needed France and other monarchs to support him, so his gratitude to the witch who saved his life would have to be paid later.

It has taken him four years, but he has finally met her again. In the most unexpected of places. Given that their only encounter happened at one of his camps in St. Albans, he should not be surprised. Seeing her as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte seems like a more reasonable setting, he believes.

Draped in a dark blue dress, she looks more beautiful than he has remembered. No, not that. She was little more than a child when he first saw her and now she is a woman now. A perfect English rose, even if hidden in the French court.

His eyes are fixed on her as she moves about in an elegant manner to the steps of the dance, his attention unwavering, even as King Louis speaks of his hunting tales.

He cannot stay there anymore, listening to meaningless stories. No, he must speak to her

* * *

 _ **Palais du Louvre, France, 1466**_

It is a beautiful morning; Bonnie has to admit as she takes a stroll on the gardens, searching for fresh flowers to craft wreaths for the ladies and Queen Charlotte.

The air is not frosty from the harsh winter any longer, replaced by a warm breeze that ruffles the lush green foliage on the trees. Even though the sun is already out in the sky, the palace is quiet. Most of the nobles- both English and French- are still asleep, probably exhausted from the grand feast that lasted until the wee hours of the morning.

The servants, though, are already hard at work as they prepare for May Day festivities. As it is customary, the beginning of spring is to be celebrated with a merry day outside filled with games, dancing, and plenty of wine.

"Imagine my surprise when I find my little guardian angel hidden away in Paris? Or should I say my little guardian witch?"

The voice, masculine and familiar, catches Bonnie by surprise as the handle of the basket escapes from her grip. He chuckles, most likely amused with her clumsiness. Bonnie takes her time to collect the lilies and wildflowers from the floor; her face burning with shame. Not even a minute in front of the king and she is already making a fool of herself.

"Your Grace," Bonnie murmurs as she bows her head, as a show of deference and because she wishes to hide her face. "I am far from being anyone's guardian angel. Much less yours, Your Grace."

"It is a relief to see that your time in France has not diminished your humility, my Lady," Niklaus says; his lips curling into a pleased smirk. Having her so close to him, as the sunlight illuminates her bronzed skin, is more delightful than he's expected.

"Her Grace insists that her ladies are humble and not engaged in vanity," Bonnie replies; her last words so unexpectedly bold that even she is surprised. If he is bothered, he fails to show it. His easy smile does not falter for even a second.

"Oh, I do not deny that I happen to be a little vain. What king isn't?" he asks, extending a hand to remove a yellow wildflower that's caught on her headpiece. She shivers when the pads of his fingers touch her skin. "I did not think I would ever see you again, my Lady. I regret not showing you my gratitude."

"There is nothing to regret, Your Grace. I did nothing more than my duty," Bonnie assures as she takes a step back; her legs trembling just a little. She has never been so close to a man, much less a king, before. Even though most of the ladies around her gossip about such matters, Bonnie has remained chaste.

"I doubt that giving me _this_ constitutes as your duty," Klaus argues, fishing out the small vial that hangs around his neck. For some strange reason, he is pleased when her eyes widen in pure surprise. There is something quite satisfying in extracting an emotion out of her, who seems to be wearing her stoic mask.

"You've kept it," Bonnie murmurs, hiding the urge to get closer to him, to see if that tiny object is indeed the protection amulet she gifted him years ago. She is lost for words. Why would the king have kept this? Surely the amulet has lost its power. "Why?"

"It is because of this that I am King today," he answers as he the memory of his near death at the Battle of Towton comes to mind. "Because of you."

"I did not command an army to fight your battles, Your Grace. Your victory is your own."

"You may not have wielded a sword, but you did have a hand in making me king. After all, you are the young witch who healed me when I was nearing death, aren't you?" Klaus asks; his blue eyes so fixed on her that she is able to notice the golden specks on his irises.

"Your Grace…" Bonnie whispers; voice faltering as her heartbeat becomes erratic. He may be the king, but he is all but a stranger to her. How can he have the ability to affect her so?

"Have supper with me tonight," he requests as he inches over until his lips are inches away from her skin. Bonnie can barely hear his soft words. Blood rushes to her ears, as loud as a thunderstorm, rendering her nearly deaf. Her eyelids become so heavy she has to close her eyes for just a moment, just while she inhales his minty fragrance.

Thinking with a clear head proves to be a difficult task, and for a moment, Bonnie is inclined to say yes. That moment passes as she remembers her Grandmother's words.

 _All of England knows of his penchant for bedding ladies_.

The King is a womanizer and she will be nothing but a warm body to be discarded later. Bonnie may be somewhat sheltered, but she knows what happens to foolish girls who think themselves to be in love or mistresses who fall out of favor. No matter how handsome and charming the king may be, she has no wish to be the subject of court gossip.

"I'm afraid that would be inappropriate, Your Grace," Bonnie says; looking down at her own hands as she attempts to avoid his gaze.

To her surprise, Niklaus does not throw a fit at being rejected. Most of the nobles Bonnie knows are quite entitled and prone to temper tantrums when they do not get their way. The king, however, seems to be different. Both corners of his lips remain curled in a subtle grin as he looks at her.

"Perhaps I will see you later in the festivities then," he says with a nod after a moment of silence.

"Yes, Your Grace," Bonnie replies with the customary bow, so taken aback by his display of chivalry that she finds it difficult to tear her eyes off him, even as he walks away.

It is only when he is out of sight that Bonnie releases the breath she's been holding; her head so dizzy that she thinks she may faint onto the ground.

Bonnie has refused the King's request, a wise judgment on her part. Cavorting with the King would hardly befitting of her station, a lady, and daughter of a noble. Even an innocent act such as a joining him for supper would become court gossip and soon she would be branded as a whore, the King's mistress.

So why does it feel like she cannot take a proper breath; her chest already heavy with regret?

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back with a new chapter, and finally, Klaus and Bonnie met again. I hope you enjoy their interaction because that was the hardest part to write, and I had to rewrite it a couple of times until I felt I had their voices right. Things will probably move at a quicker speed now because there is much to cover!**


	4. IV - May Day

_**Palais du Louvre, Paris**_

 _ **1466**_

May Day celebrations last the entire day and, as expected, take over the entire court. After years without sumptuous displays such as this one, all of the nobles are anxious to partake in the festivities. Bonnie, as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, is no different.

Most of Queen Charlotte's ladies, anxious to catch the eye of an Earl or even a Viscount, have engaged in painstaking methods to prim themselves. Not one with a wish to look like the only dull lady in the Queen's service, Bonnie does the same.

Instead of braiding her hair and arranging it into a simple bun, covered by one of the headpieces without giving it a second thought, Bonnie is much more diligent as she gets ready for the day. She rubs lavender scented milk onto her skin to make it as soft as silk, brushes her hair and arranges it into a more complicated style with her curls hanging past her shoulders and even sprays some of her perfume – a concoction prepared by her Grandmother, using some of the wildflowers and herbs that grow in the gardens at Knebworth House.

Her focused efforts do not go unnoticed, Bonnie notes with some delight. As soon as the rest of the ladies see her clad in the bright yellow dress, they flock to her with unbridled glee.

"You look resplendent!" Caroline exclaims with a giggle as her index finger loops around one of Bonnie's curls.

Round blue eyes widen in surprise and curiosity while Caroline studies Bonnie. Her dear friend has always been quite the beauty, but she has seemed to shy away from embracing it. Unlike most French ladies, Bonnie does not seek attention from others, preferring to fade into the background.

" _I'm a witch, Caroline," Bonnie would say with a resigned tone that would always put a frown on Caroline's face. "It is best that I do not draw attention to myself."_

So it is certainly astounding to see Bonnie this bright; rose-colored cheeks and a mass of deep brown curls that reach her décolletage.

"Now, I am quite curious to know what has brought on this change. Have you met a certain Monsieur at the feast?"

Bonnie flinches; heartbeat becoming faster and erratic as she tries not to give herself away. As much as Bonnie has tried to convince herself otherwise, she knows the true motive for her sudden change of style. For some inexplicable reason, Bonnie finds it that she wants _his_ eyes on her.

It is utter madness; wanting to provoke the King and rouse his emotions the same way he did hers. Nothing can come out of their involvement. At least, nothing good for her. At best, she will bear him a bastard son and hope that the King will throw enough money at a noble in hopes that he will agree to ignore her salacious past. Besides, it is naïve of her to believe she could entice him when he has such a beautiful woman by his side. With fair skin, bright blue eyes and red hair, the Queen is splendid and surely no man with his wits would ever disregard her.

Yet, there is something in Bonnie, something unfamiliar and quite dangerous that makes her want to ignore caution. Perhaps it is vanity that clouds her mind and causes her to wish for the King's longing gaze on her person. Perhaps she has simply lost her mind for wanting to play these games.

"No Monsieur has caught my eye, Caroline," Bonnie says with a chuckle, a little surprised at how well the lie flows from her lips. "It is Paris, we all should live in a merrier way, should we not?"

The ladies giggle again, all of them filled with anticipation and excitement for the day of celebrations. Bonnie clasps her hands together, overtaken by the same emotions. The reason for those, however, happen to be different than anyone else's.

* * *

"It would seem that fate is intent on placing you in my path."

The voice is filled with mirth and even though Bonnie has her back turned to the person who's spoken to her, the way her heart lurches leaves no room for doubt.

It does seem that fate enjoys playing with her. While Bonnie has donned the most enticing dress she owns in hopes of alluring just a simple glance from the King, she did _not_ expect them to cross paths. Not while they are both unaccompanied. After all, a King is rarely alone during these grand festivities, often surrounded by Lords who wish to further their position.

"Wouldn't you agree, Lady Bennett?" he asks; cutting the distance in between them with a few strides. "You may rise."

Bonnie does so but averts his eyes; staring at one of the paintings hanging on the wall instead. Looking at the colorful drawing of the Duchess d'Angouleme amongst her garden of roses is more soothing than meeting his eyes.

"Will you not look at me?"

"Your Grace…" Bonnie starts to say, but pauses; lines of confusion etched on her forehead. Unwise words were about to come out of her lips without her control so she best keep them shut.

 _Looking at you makes me feel senseless, weak at the knees and I do not know why_ , that is what Bonnie wants to say, but she knows she would never utter this words to him.

"I have grown quite fond of your green eyes, I must admit," he murmurs to himself; the pad of his thumb tracing circles over her cheek. It's soothing and maddening at the same time, as she doesn't know how to respond. "I did not see you earlier at the gardens."

"Her Grace was not feeling too well and asked me to stay with her. How do you like the celebrations? Your Grace seems to be very… festive," Bonnie finally says as she takes a longer look at him.

Tousled hair and rosy cheeks, he looks like he has enjoyed his time outside in the gardens. As a matter of fact, Bonnie is surprised to see him wearing a white long shirt with simple embroidery instead of the customary tailored waistcoat made from a fine fabric.

He tilts his head back in a loud chuckle. In that moment, he looks like a man instead of the conqueror king he is. Bonnie can't help smiling, for he looks so very handsome.

"It is May Day, is it not? We should be festive," Niklaus says with a grin, the same wretched grin that gives Bonnie a fluttering sensation in her belly. His hand; warm and calloused, is now splayed against the small of her back, and Bonnie cannot tell if she should run.

A proper lady would apologize, bow to the King and walk as fast as her legs would allow. That is what she knows she should do. It would seem, however, that Bonnie no longer has control of her own body. So she stays there.

"Will you give me the honor of wearing your favor while I compete?" Klaus all but pleads, breaking the quiet moment in between them as his fingers travel to touch the curly ends of her hair. "It would seem that you are my lucky charm."

"Compete? Are you to joust?" Bonnie wonders; raised eyebrows in alarm. Although vampires are stronger creatures than most, the jousting tournaments have always seemed particularly vicious.

"No, just a harmless match of jeu de paume," Klaus says quickly, surprised with his urge to assure her. Most of all, he's surprised at how much her concern pleases him. "But I happen to be very competitive and have no intention to lose to the Duke of Orleans."

"And wearing my favor will help you defeat the Duke?" Bonnie wonders with a smile; the butterflies in her belly batting their wings with more force. As if their excitement is linked to the timbre of his voice. "I hardly think a small piece of cloth is that magical."

"Are you trying to imply I am so wretched at sports that not even your favor will be able to help me?" he asks; his tone showing exaggerated outrage. The dimples on his cheeks are a clear evidence of his ill attempt of concealing a smile. "You wound me so, my Lady."

"Your Grace, I would never," Bonnie pleads as she places a hand on her chest; her voice also light and jesting. "Here."

With a slight tremble to her hand, she starts to undo one of the braids that compose her elaborate hairstyle. Her curls fall down until they touch her shoulder as she pulls the blue silk ribbon. A present of her Lady Grandmother, to remind her of the simple times when Bessie would brush her hair and style it with colorful ribbons, is now her own gift to the King.

"I hope this gives you luck," Bonnie murmurs as she fastens the ribbon around his wrist. The item stands out against the pale skin, making it obvious that it belongs to a lady and not him. Thankfully, the long sleeve of his white shirt hides the colorful ribbon.

It shall be their little secret, Bonnie thinks; warmth spreading over her as if she has stepped outside during a bright summer day.

"I have no doubt in my mind that it will, my Lady," he assures her; touching the object with both curiosity and reverence. If someone were to look at him, they would think he is admiring the jewels of the Crown.

Another moment of silence befalls them as their eyes meet; this time the quiet is comforting. It is as if they do not have the need for words, and that connection terrifies Bonnie.

"Forgive me, your Grace, but I must leave," she says, forcing herself to put some distance in between them. Their bodies are close, too close to be considered proper. "Her Grace will probably start to notice my absence."

"Will you not give me the pleasure of your presence at the match?" Klaus asks as he takes a step forward; not pleased with how far apart they seem to be.

Bonnie notices he does not seem to be concerned with being seen by other people. Even though they are standing on a rather deserted corridor that leads to the royal chambers, Bonnie is still hesitant. After all, no one would dare to question the King and his desires, but she is not so fortunate.

"As much as I would love to partake in the celebrations, I cannot leave Her Grace," Bonnie says, shaking her head from side to side.

Emboldened, she reaches out to touch the fabric that's wrapped around his wrist. It is a small gesture, and yet, her heart is furious inside of her chest. Not once, in the twenty years of her life did she feel this way.

"I am sure that Your Grace will have a wonderful game."

"How can I lose when I have your favor? I shall be thinking of you, my Lady, for I cannot seem to stop myself from doing so," Niklaus murmurs; the sound of his voice barely audible. Bonnie herself can only hear it because his lips are so close to her skin that she feels his warm breath.

"I-" Bonnie starts to say, but stops when her voice is caught in her throat.

How can she respond to such words? Nobody has ever said this to her before and now, the King of England himself is saying them. It is almost like a fairytale. Or at least it would be if she wasn't a witch with no royal blood and he is already married? They are a little more than a doomed story.

"I will think of you, too," Bonnie whispers out after seconds of nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing. She utters the word while looking down at the floor beneath them instead of his eyes. She cannot look at him, for she will be utterly lost if she does so. "I must go."

Clutching the fabric of her dress in between her fingers, Bonnie lifts the hem to move faster as she makes her way towards the royal apartments, disappearing in the maze of corridors.

Still rooted to the same place, Niklaus can do little more than watch Bonnie's sudden departure; the longing expression settling on his face without his awareness. A longing expression that quickly morphs into a different one; one of anticipation and determination as he clasps his hands together.

Come what may, he will have her.

* * *

"I see you are in much better spirits, brother," Elijah comments as he walks past the two guards and enters the King's private chambers to see Niklaus enjoying a game of chess and some wine with Stefano Salvatore.

Elijah is not yet sure if the Milani noble is a good influence on Niklaus – his brother needs no more encouragement to continue enjoying frivolous pleasures – but he will not say anything for now. After weeks of self-despair, Niklaus has gone back to his usual self and for that, Elijah is grateful.

"It seems you were right, Elijah," Klaus announces, as he flashes his brother a bright grin before returning his attention to the game. "The Parisian air did make me feel much better."

Stefan, as he has been called ever since coming to English court, looks down and covers his mouth with a hand in an attempt to stifle his snickering. Parisian air, what a jest. All of them know the only possible explanation and it is certainly not the change of surroundings. With all of the sumptuous celebrations, the courtiers have been too wide-eyed or perhaps too drunk on sweet wine to notice what is right before their eyes.

"My Lord, will you excuse us?" Elijah requests; his voice taking on a graver tone as he keeps his clasped hands behind his back.

"As you wish, your Graces," Stefan acquiesces with a bow of the head before exiting the royal apartments. While it is an honor to be in the company of the King, joining some of the ladies for a late night entertainment will certainly be more pleasant.

"Come now, Elijah. There is no need to be standing there as if you were part of my guard," Klaus quips with a smile as he fills two goblets with wine. "Since you saw fit to dismiss Stefan, perhaps you should take his place as my chess opponent."

"I am sure you have summoned me so we could play chess," Elijah comments with the smallest hint of irony. Klaus tilts his head but keeps quiet as his brother eventually sits down and accepts the wine.

"I apologize for keeping you from your wife. Remind me to personally apologize to the Duchess tomorrow over breakfast," Klaus says easily as he breaks a small piece and brings it to his mouth. "When we return, I shall like to bring one of those cooks to London. They make the most delightful meals."

Taking a small sip of the wine – mulberry wine has always been far too sweet for his taste – Elijah studies the way his brother is behaving. Knowing Niklaus for as long as he has, he can tell there is something unusual happening.

"What is it, brother? I am pleased that your spirits have improved, but I cannot help but wonder the cause for your odd behavior," Elijah admits, frowning when his brother throws his head back in a joyous laugh and gulps down the wine.

"Odd behavior?" Klaus questions as he turns his attention to the ivory pieces on the chessboard. The Queen stood to the right of the King, as her rightful place. "Is my merry disposition now an odd behavior?"

The Duke of Somerset sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Out of all of them, Klaus has always been the blunt one, delivering his cutting words with no preamble. That impetuous nature of his has given Elijah much concern over the years, but at the moment, his own anxiety has him wishing to see the hasty side of Niklaus once again.

"If you would be so kind as to inform me why we are here. It is late and I wish to retire," Elijah finally says with gritted teeth. Though the day has been filled with delightful celebrations, it has exhausted him to the bones. Since the trip's main objective is to further strengthen their alliance with France, Elijah's done his best to work in charming the French Noblesse, which is no easy feat.

"You were right about coming to Paris. It has certainly given me the perspective I need to remain a successful king."

"And what is this new discovery?" Elijah asks, feeling his pulse quicken as he dreads the answer his brother may give him. If Niklaus desires to embroil England into another war, perhaps one with Scotland, he will be forced to against his King's wishes.

However, by staring at the way which Niklaus' blue eyes glitter, Elijah can tell this is not the look of a man who plots for war. No, that Niklaus is bloodthirsty and ravenous.

"A king is only successful when he creates a dynasty, brother. For that I need children, I need sons," Klaus says; gripping the goblet of wine so tightly that his knuckles turn white. "I have realized that I will not be granted any sons in my marriage to Aurora."

The sharp breath Elijah draws is unmistakable in the silence of the room. Klaus tilts his head up so he can meet his brother's eyes; an attempt to figure out one of the many thoughts that are swirling in that mind of his. It is no use, though. Save for the subtle paling of his face, Elijah does not allow himself to show him any emotion. A servant could enter the room and believe they are speaking of the hunting instead of serious matters of state.

"You wish for a divorce?"

Displaying a calmness that feels unfamiliar to him, Klaus shakes his head. For months he has been agonizing over his inability to fulfill the most elementary duty of men. After all, he has won a war, killed men with his bare hands just so he could avenge his father and sit on the throne. He is a conqueror and champion, and as such, he should be able to sire a son, many sons.

After seeing Bonnie, though, Klaus was finally able to understand the reason for his failures. She is the woman he needs beside him, the woman he needs as his Queen.

"No, an annulment. I am in a marriage that has yet to produce any issue. Rome should find no trouble in granting me an annulment just like they did the King of Portugal," Klaus says, remembering that Manoel I was in the same situation as him a few months ago.

"Niklaus, I understand your frustration, but this could have disastrous consequences," Elijah warns, already anticipating the doom that could come to England if Klaus put his plans in motion. "Louis is a vain man and will not be happy with you setting his sister aside. France is an important ally, and one of the reasons why Richard has not attacked us."

"Richard has not attacked us yet, but he will not hesitate to do so if I die with Finn as my heir!" Klaus bellows out; sending the ivory pawns flying on the floor in a burst of rage. "Thousands of men died at Towton, Father died at the hands of that bitch. I will be damned if I allow her even the slightest chance of having her blood back on the throne!"

Specks of crimson red appear, marring the clear blue of his eyes for the slightest of seconds. So much for being calm. Elijah winces in the subtlest manner, just the right corner of his lip twitching as it dawns on him that Niklaus' words are not of a man deep in his cups or just a burst of irrationality. It is worse, much worse.

"And who do you have in mind, brother?" Elijah wonders with a resigned sigh. There is no arguing with Niklaus, not while he seems so obstinate.

His keen tactician mind listing the eligible princesses who would bring a considerable dowry and help broker a strong alliance.

If England is to make an enemy out of France, they need to unite themselves with a stronger partner. The Infanta Juana is of appropriate age, and with her hand comes the mighty Spanish Navy.

"I have already prepared a document," Klaus supplies, sliding the piece of yellowed parchment closer to Elijah. "This contains the information I've gathered regarding my intended bride."

Elijah chuckles at his brother's level of preparation as he takes the parchment. His laughter dies as soon as he reads the words at the top, written in cursive letters and black ink.

 _Lady Bonnie Bennett_ , _daughter of the Earl of Derby._

"You wish to marry one of your subjects?" Elijah asks; a cackle of incredulity betraying the gravity of the situation. Niklaus has lost his wits, that is the only explanation. "No king has ever done that!"

Illuminated by candlelight, Klaus looks downright predatory; much like the first time when they discussed battlefield strategy in father's study. Crinkled eyebrows in concentration as his index finger circles the thick rim of the silver goblet, one would believe Klaus is back at a tent in Yorkshire; pondering on the most effective plan for the vanguard. It is fitting, as Elijah has realized there is little difference between marriage and war.

"I reckon I will have to be the first king to that, then," he finally says, gulping the wine from his cup until his lips are stained red. "This should stay between us until we return to London. There are some matters that must be resolved before an announcement is made to the public."

"Yes, Your Grace," Elijah agrees with a nod, unsure if he should be impressed with Niklaus' absolute confidence or terrified by his lack of judgment.

"Will you not lighten up, Elijah? This is my future marriage we speak of, not a declaration of war!"

Unfortunately, Elijah fears those two happen to be different sides of the same coin, even if Niklaus is not yet aware.

* * *

 ** _A/N: First of all, thank you so much for all of your reviews! You may not know it, but they are all very important to me and hearing your feedback inspires me to write even more! There you have it, Klaus is stubborn as they come and in true medieval fashion, he's already decided what to do with his growing affection for Bonnie and a solution for his succession problem. This Klaus was inspired by two famous British monarchs, did you already figure out who they are? Let me hear your thoughts, guys!_**


	5. V - Courtship

_**Palais du Louvre**_

 _ **Paris, 1466**_

May Day has come and passed, and the Palace still brims with excitement; elaborate feasts and games every day, much to Bonnie's surprise.

Due to King Louis' humble and discreet disposition, Bonnie expected the court to disband as soon as May Day celebrations were over. The nobles would return to their own lands, filled with vanity and satisfaction that they have spent time with the King and indulged in the luxuries of Paris, and the Queen and her ladies would go back to their comfortable recluse in Château d'Amboise.

At least that is what Bonnie expected, and to be honest, what she has come to yearn for. Being surrounded by the glittering of precious gems, fine silks, dancing, and laughter may be alluring, but it is little more than a sweet illusion.

"Are we to remain in Paris?" Bonnie asks, aware that she is the only one who is not happy with the news.

"It would seem that the King has listened to his advisors and decided to deafen the critics by finally establishing court here in the Louvre. If the Queen is to move here in a permanent manner remains to be known," Jeanne, the Marquesse de la Douze and one of the closest ladies to the Queen, says in a matter of fact tone. The way her lips are pressed together in a straight line causes Bonnie to wonder if she's not alone in her displeasure.

"All the better to me!" Beatrice of Monteval exclaims; her round face bright with the slightest hint of mischief. "Besides, I have much more interesting news."

Those words are enough to divert the ladies' attention from the colorful tapestry they have been embroidering, as they all turn to look at Beatrice.

"It has come to my attention that Monsieur Gerard has been making some inquiries about Queen Charlotte's ladies," Beatrice says as she pushes a strand of thick, light blonde hair behind her ear. "On behalf of the English King."

Sitting on the padded bench by the window, Bonnie all but snaps her neck in the haste to look at Beatrice; her pulse quickening at the mention of the King.

"Why would the King be interested in us?" Caroline asks with a deep frown; the lines of confusion etched on the usually smooth skin. "Perhaps he means to take some of us as ladies to Queen Aurora."

"Caroline, do not be so naïve!" Beatrice chides, shaking her head at her lack of political knowledge. Perhaps the move to Paris and finally being at court will do them some good. "Do you honestly believe the Count would be making inquiries just so he can select Queen Aurora's ladies? The King does not concern himself with such small matters. It is said that he may be looking for a _maîtresse-en-titre._ "

All of the ladies gasp, even the usually cynic Jeanne, and the scandalized chattering begins. Bonnie can do little more than trying to keep her hands from trembling. Once again, she feels like a young, gullible girl. She does not know why hearing this bothers her so much. After all, the King has a wife and is famous for his weakness for the fairer sex. He is not hers, could never be hers.

"Queen Aurora has failed to provide any children, and according to gossip, her beauty is not enough to lure the King anymore. Being his official mistress can definitely have its perks," Beatrice points out; the tone of her voice neutral, but her brown eyes shine with pure excitement.

As a matter of fact, all of them seem to be fidgeting with excitement. Bonnie cannot blame them, she supposes. The King of England is young, handsome and athletic. Becoming his official mistress and enjoying his favor is not the worst option for a lady. It makes sense that they will be enthusiastic about the news.

Her feeling so disappointed that her chest hurts and her stomach curls into itself is what does not make sense.

"Can you imagine? The King of England has taken notice of one of us! Who shall be the ever so lucky lady?" Caroline wonders; her blue eyes scanning the room as she tries to think of who could have charmed the King.

"I reckon we will discover at the masque tonight," Beatrice comments; her fair skin becoming red as she envisions how the night may go. "It will certainly be very interesting."

Bonnie flinches at the mere thought of the upcoming banquet. It would be an interesting night indeed, and she is already dreading it.

* * *

The silk of her red dress trails behind as she paces back and forth. Feeling the white-hot anger swirl inside of her, Queen Aurora of England cracks her fingers one by one, wishing she could just make something bleed. Anything.

"I do not even understand why you are fretting over this, sister," Tristan, the young Duke of Orleans, says as he sips from his cup of ale. "Your husband is a king, and it will do you well not to forget that."

"I do not forget it, brother," Aurora reminds him with gritted teeth, wishing she could chuck the damn cup on his head. Her older brother has always been more understanding of her own emotions than most, so she is annoyed to no end that he cannot understand her now. "I just do not appreciate being humiliated in such a way."

Growing up as a Princess of France, Aurora was educated to behave in a manner befitting of her station. All of her past lessons as a young girl with Madame Betancourt and Monsieur Marchand were designed with a bright future in mind. She is fluent in three languages, can recite poetry, play the lute, and most importantly, she knows how to act like the Queen she is.

A mistress is little more than a speck of dust on her dress. They come and go at a furious pace, as her husband seems to be quite fond of beautiful and vivacious women. It does not exactly bother her, as she is smart enough not to expect fidelity from a King. Besides, she knows her husband. His love burns hot and bright, but it is brief. All of his mistresses that come wide-eyed and impressed leave shortly after, married off to a baron or a count, and nobody ever utters their names again. As long as the crown lies on her head, Aurora can live with that.

"Your husband loves women just as much as he loves fighting. This is hardly his first mistress," Tristan points out with a frown, confused by Aurora's temper.

"A maitresse-en-titre is a different matter!" Aurora all but shrieks, losing any semblance of self-control for a few brief seconds. "We both know how much power they can wield. Am I to smile and accept Niklaus parading another woman for all of the court to see?"

"You are the daughter of a King, Aurora. No mistress will ever be able to wield power over you," Tristan assures her as their eyes meet. "Do not concern yourself with such matters, sister."

"How can I not? I fear he is slipping from me and an official mistress will not help matters," Aurora bemoans; draining the cup of wine. Her sour moods have made the mulberry wine bitter, but she does not care.

"Listen to me, sister," Tristan asks as gets up from the padded chair and moves until he's standing in front of her. "The way to reclaim your husband's love is by giving him a son. When he has his dynasty, your position will be solidified and he will not be able to deny you. No _petite_ _putain_ can ever replace you."

Aurora jutted her chin forward as attempted to look strong. After all, she is the Queen and she will be damned if others perceive her as weak.

* * *

"Is that really necessary?" Klaus wonders with an impatient tone as he extends his right arm to the side once more.

The royal seamstress, sensing the King's building impatience, focuses on the task at hand with even more diligence; her fingers nimbly working on the blue silk waistcoat until it fits him like a glove.

"Since Louis seems intent on throwing a masque in your honor, I reckon it is quite necessary," Elijah replies with a hint of a grin, feeling strangely amused by his brother's displeasure. "Besides, I would have imagined you to be the most delighted with yet another night filled with wine, dancing, and ladies."

Niklaus sneers, quite aware of Elijah's subtle taunting. His brother knows that a wretched Masquerade celebration is the last thought in his mind.

"Is there a reason for your cheerful spirit, Elijah?"

"No reason, in particular, thank you for asking," Elijah answers, swirling the dark red liquid inside his cup. "Perhaps I am amused that out of all things, what seems to bother you is a masque."

"If there is something you wish to tell me, you should do so instead of throwing accusations," Niklaus says with gritted teeth; willing himself not to lose his tenuous grip on self-control. He has felt his brother's judging gaze on him ever since he informed Elijah of his plan to dissolve his marriage, and he's had it.

"There are no accusations coming from me, brother," Elijah replies, throwing both hands up to proclaim his innocence. "I was merely curious as to why you wouldn't enjoy one of your favorite pastimes."

"You know damn why, Elijah," Klaus hisses, still with the presence of mind to measure his words. While the royal seamstress has been discreet in her years of service, he cannot be careless and risk others discovering his plans.

"What of Warwick? Have you shared the cause of your _anxiety_ with our cousin?"

As if being summoned, their cousin, the notorious Earl of Warwick enters the room. Unlike any other lesser noble standing at the presence of their King, he doesn't kneel or even bows his head. As a matter of fact, he barely acknowledges Niklaus' presence and looks around the room first to take note of the servants standing around.

"Leave us, all of you!" he finally says after a moment of tense silence; his voice not yet a shout, but close enough to have all of the servants – seamstress included- scattering out of the King's chambers without a trace of hesitation.

"What has you so troubled, cousin?" Elijah questions, noticing his cousin's face has taken an unusual shade of red and the way it looks like he could dagger someone.

"Our utmost goal here in France is to strengthen our alliance with Louis so he can finally send part of the French army to the Welsh Marches, isn't it?" Alaric inquires, staring Niklaus down as if he is not the King, but a small boy who needs to be put in his place.

Surprisingly, Niklaus does not despair or tries to assert his authority. He merely smirks at his cousin's outburst and moves to fill his cup.

"I am well aware of the reasons why we came to France, cousin. You do not need to burst into my chambers to remind me of that," Niklaus retorts; his voice draped with some irony, which infuriates Alaric even more.

"If you are so well aware, why do you wish to make a laughingstock out of your wife by choosing a French official mistress? Louis is very fond of Aurora and he won't stand to see her humiliated."

Surprising both vampires, Klaus throws his head back with a hearty chuckle, clearly not believing the matter to be as serious as Alaric puts it. Well, Klaus isn't quite sure if he's taken by the urge to laugh because the matter is such a small one – he's a King with the right to take mistresses – or if it's because of Alaric, one of the most powerful and knowledgeable men in England, and his complete inaccuracy.

"An official mistress? Who has told you that I am to take an official mistress and a French one for that matter?"

The unexpected behavior from Niklaus causes Elijah to tense up and Alaric to fluster. The Earl of Warwick has entered the royal chambers ready to chastise the obstinate King, not for this.

"The entire castle is abuzz with the news that you have tasked Marcel with finding information on Queen Charlotte's ladies so you can choose a maitresse-en-titre."

Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a dull pain spread over his temple as he remembers the parchment Niklaus gave him the day before. Surely his brother would rely on Marcel to interview servants and other nobles to gather information on his beloved.

Not one to enjoy conflict, Elijah tries to savor these last quiet moments. Judging by Alaric's reaction to the possibility of Niklaus taking a mistress, it is clear their cousin will not merrily accept Niklaus' decision.

"I can tell you that is nothing but court gossip spread by bored nobles. However, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you," Klaus adds before Alaric has time to laugh the matter off as he intended to do. "I do not wish to take one of Queen Charlotte's ladies as my mistress, I wish to take her as my wife."

Alaric snaps his head to face Niklaus with such force that one would believe he has been hit. The skin of his neck takes becomes red as if he has spent the entire day out on the gardens; his face remaining sickly pale and stoic. The only evidence of his growing indignation is the thunder behind his eyes.

"Have you lost your wits?" His voice is as quiet as a hiss, but somehow it encompasses more fury than any shout. "We are still in Louis' palace and yet you plot to get rid of his sister!"

"My wish for an annulment is hardly an indication that I have lost my wits. Three years have passed and there is not one sign that I will have a healthy son," Klaus points out; voice steady despite his displeasure with Alaric's behavior.

"This annulment is to be our undoing, can you not see that? If Margaret convinces France to fight for them, all of our work will be in vain!"

There is a twinge of desperation in the ever unwavering Earl of Warwick's speech as he realizes this is not a jest from Klaus.

"Edward, Richard's boy, still lives, does he not?" Klaus asks with a quiet voice, drawing confused stares from both men. "If I remain childless for another three years, not even France will keep me on the throne. My own people will rally behind Edward to give him the crown!"

His passionate words are met with silence, just like Klaus has expected. They could attempt to change his mind with many other arguments, but they could not refute this one. A King's biggest role in the world is to sire children, preferably sons to create a mighty dynasty. A King without heirs is weak and futureless. Soon, he'll be the joke of Europe. The King who won his throne in battle only to lose it because he couldn't produce a single son to succeed him.

"Then have the marriage annulled and ally yourself with someone stronger! Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, not some girl who brings no advantage to us," Alaric pleads, forcing his voice to remain steady and not to show his rage. "A lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte gives us nothing. Who is _she_?"

 _How did she catch your eye and I never noticed?_ This is the question that lies on his lips, ready to be voiced. Alaric has always been careful to be knowledgeable of Niklaus' affairs, afraid that such a situation would happen. Niklaus is passionate and obstinate, all too willing to ignore caution and reason.

"The Lady Bonnie Bennett," Elijah answers, watching Alaric's face morphs into a mask of scorn as he realizes just _who_ Niklaus' intended bride is.

"Sheila Bennett's granddaughter?! Now I know you have lost your wits! She is far beneath you!"

"She is the daughter of an Earl, cousin. As noble as you and your daughters!" Klaus argues, not caring if the words will infuriate him even more. For many nobles, being compared to a witch is humiliating. Alaric is no different.

"She is a witch, and no title will ever change that!" Alaric spits out; booming voice bouncing off the wood panels as he fights the

"She may be a witch, but she is also my queen of choice!" Klaus hollers, overtaken by such fury that his eyes turn into a golden hue. The wrath of his wolf.

"Choice? Is it also your choice to have the French forge an alliance with Margaret so they raise an army to attack us! It will do us well for you stop thinking with your britches!"

The shift in the room is palpable, and even Elijah becomes anxious as he senses the storm brewing within Niklaus. He's motionless, could be a statue carved out of marble if not for the clenching and unclenching of his fist and labored breathing. The last time he's seen his brother in such a way was at the battlefield at Towton, after slaying werewolves.

"It will do you well to remember that I am your King, your sovereign before I am your cousin," Klaus cautions; his low voice barely hiding the contempt he feels. "Now, leave me."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Alaric relents with a bow before retiring. As much as he wants to berate his cousin for this foolish decision, he realizes that no word from him will be able to get through Niklaus.

He will have to find another way to open his eyes before Niklaus dooms them all.

* * *

Even though Bonnie has spent the entire day dreading this occasion, she cannot help her wide eyes full of awe as she stares at every single detail. After so many sumptuous celebrations, Bonnie's expected this masque to be simpler, consisting of little more than wine and dancing. She is proven wrong once more as soon as she enters the great hall and realizes that it looks even more marvelous than it did before.

Somehow, everything seems to glitter. Banners with both families hang from the ceiling, colorful tapestries depicting the royal family in various settings cover the walls. The table meant for royalty, is raised on a dais and stands on the end of the room, is covered by a thick, purple cloth that is embroidered with a golden thread.

The centerpiece on the table, representing a green lawn, is a spectacle of its own. Surrounded by large peacock feathers and green branches tied with lavender and other fragrant flowers, it is clear that it is meant to impress others.

Bonnie is quite impressed, but not enough for the bitter feeling of rejection to be expunged. As much as she attempts to distract herself by admiring the beautiful dresses and the musicians, Bonnie cannot seem to forget _him._ The man who should not be permeating her thoughts is everywhere she looks.

She sips on Malmsey wine, hoping that it will lift her spirits the same way it usually does the other ladies, but it seems to be in vain. While her body feels light, as if she could jump and fly away, her mind stays grounded. The possibility of witnessing the King choose another, one of her dear friends, is far too sobering.

"Come, Bonnie!" Caroline urges as she bumps into her. Bonnie can see that she is overly excited, even through the mask. For that, Bonnie envies her. It is the most lively celebration they have ever seen, and Bonnie is unable to enjoy herself. "Her Grace wishes to show the English that her ladies are much superior when it comes to the Pavane. The King himself has challenged her and said he will also dance to show his skills!"

Wrapped in her wine induced daze, Bonnie has failed to notice the commotion at the center of the hall. The courtiers are huddled together, staring at the King with wide eyes and admiration. Bonnie feels sick. She may love dancing; the Pavane a personal favorite, but she does _not_ wish to be close to him. Not when she feels betrayed. Betrayed by a King who owes her nothing, what a foolish little girl she is.

"I've had much to drink, and would be quite clumsy," Bonnie says with a nervous chuckle, even as Caroline continues to pull her by the hand.

Much to Bonnie's chagrin, her protests are ignored and she finds herself standing with the other ladies; feet moving to the slow rhythm of the Pavane. Her chest tightens when they change partners and she is left standing next to the King.

"Did I not say that faith is intent on having us cross paths?" Niklaus asks, turning his head to look at her. "I was right."

Avoiding his gaze, Bonnie does not allow her eyes to wander, keeping them focused ahead.

"Yes, Your Grace," she agrees with not much emotion; her vo7ice as cold as a January night. "You were right."

"Have I done something to displease you, my lady?" Niklaus wonders, cocking his head in confusion. Their last encounter was short and tinted with hesitance, but it was warm.

"How can you displease me, Your Grace?" Bonnie replies, plastering a forced smile on her face when they come face to face. There are many eyes on her, and she cannot look as if she's displeased.

"The gardens are beautiful when illuminated by moonlight," Klaus comments after a silent moment between them, leaving Bonnie confused. "Take a walk with me."

"That would be highly improper, Your Grace!" Bonnie says in a scandalized whisper. The whole palace knows he seeks for a mistress and it would harm her reputation to be seen with him unaccompanied. Besides, she has no wish to be alone with him again. There is no reason to fool herself into believing they can have a future together.

"I am the King of England, Lady Bennett. Do you honestly believe I would engage in improper behavior?" Niklaus questions, resembling a naughty boy who attempts to present himself as innocent.

Damn him for being so charming.

"Of course not, Your Grace."

"Then meet me by the South fountain."

* * *

Bonnie has half a mind to ignore his request, but he is the King and a request from the King is an order not many people can defy. Besides, the thought of him standing by himself as he awaits her is not a pleasant one to have.

"I must confess, I was afraid you wouldn't come, Lady Bennett," Klaus says with a bright smile as soon as he sets his sights upon her figure.

"I should not be here and we both know it, Your Grace," Bonnie whispers; the words stumbling out of her lips in a sudden moment of courage. Her face is warm with embarrassment as soon as she realizes what she has said.

"I fail to see why not. It is a warm, spring night, the moon and the stars shine bright and you look beautiful _."_

Klaus cuts the distance that separates them in three long steps, only satisfied when he can feel her warm breath against his own skin. Standing so close to her, he notices the smoothness of her skin and the way the green of her eyes shine. Bonnie Bennett is different from all of the other ladies he's met, and he wants her.

When she looks like this, unblemished white dress and bronze skin, Klaus can do little more than admire. Oh, how much he wishes to kiss her, and taste her skin.

"Is there a reason why you asked me to meet with you, Your Grace?" Bonnie asks; her voice trembling with excitement? She can't quite tell. Her heart beats fast and in an irregular rhythm, her lips are dry, and she suspects he is the reason for those symptoms.

"I am to return to England on the morrow, Lady Bennett, and I cannot do so without talking to you."

Even though the King has the ability to completely charm her, Bonnie remains leery when it comes to his words. Does he think her to be a naïve little girl that can be fooled by pretty words?

"Why is that, Your Grace? If you believe you can charm me into becoming your mistress, I'm afraid you are wrong."

The frown on his face dissolves; replaced by a delighted smile as he chuckles.

"Oh, this senseless rumor again. I have no wish to take a mistress, I would like to have you as my wife," Klaus declares, feeling lighter after revealing his intentions.

Bonnie, however, feels heavy. So heavy that her legs strain with the mighty task of carrying her. She swoons as his face disappears little by little; darkness overtaking her vision. He is quick to wrap his arms around her waist, preventing her from falling.

"How can I be your wife if Your Grace is already married?" Bonnie asks with a faint voice, not sure if the question is directed to herself or to the King.

"That is a matter that will be quickly solved," he assures her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me, little witch, will you be my wife?"

Little witch. Nobody has ever called her that. Usually, when they say the word witch in her presence, it's filled with contempt. Right now, it's warm and makes her giddy. Giddy and stupid enough to throw caution to the wind.

"I will," she whispers, the two short broken since her voice seems to be as unstable as her legs. "When you can take a wife, that is."

Klaus throws his head in a deep chuckle, amused by his beloved's skepticism.

"Do not despair, my Lady," he pleads, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. Both of them release the slightest sigh; almost as if their minds are allayed by their closeness. Back in the great hall, it was all an act. This time, surrounded by flowers and tall trees, it is real. At least, it feels real.

"I will assemble a council as soon as I return to London so they can quickly deal with the matter. We are to have a great wedding as soon as Rome issues my annulment."

"I am a witch, how can we have a great wedding if I'm not even sure the people will accept me as your wife?"

Bonnie may be young, not knowledgeable of court matters, but she knows many will not accept her. Perhaps she has her heart set in an impossible feat.

"You are my chosen wife. Nobody will dare to question my decision. Especially such a fine decision," he says with the confidence of a warrior, and Bonnie cannot help but trust him. "You will be the most beautiful Queen England has ever seen."

Bonnie nods, trying to focus on him and the comfort he brings her. Her mind, however, seems to be fixed in one thing only.

 _Queen of England_.

Heavens help her, for she is not ready for this.

* * *

 _To Lady Bonnie Bennett_

 _Lady to Queen Charlotte of France_

 _My sweet granddaughter,_

 _It pains me that I couldn't be with you, as I have grown to miss you and long to see the woman you have become._

 _However, I write you to speak of important matters. My little birds tell me you are as beautiful as a summer rose and you have caught the eye of the English King and other English courtiers. This concerns me greatly, for the King is married and you are a witch. It won't take long for tongues to start wagging and your reputation to be ruined._

 _For that reason, your father and I have decided that it is time for you to return to England so you can be married. We shall find you a kind and respectable man, my sweetheart. You will be happy._

 _Love,_

 _Sheila, Dowager Countess of Derby_

* * *

A **/N: Here I am again! First of all, thank you so much for your reviews, they always put the biggest smile on my face! Kudos to the guest who got it right, in this story Klaus is inspired by Edward IV and Henry VIII, while Bonnie is inspired by a little of Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth Woodville. Don't worry, she's not about to lose her head and there will be no princes in the tower in this story. So, Bonnie was charmed by her handsome King, but she has no idea of what expects her, Sheila wants to save her from all of this trouble by arranging a marriage and Alaric is not happy with Klaus, there's a lot to happen! Let me know your opinion, guys!**


	6. VI - Duchess of Kendal and March

_**Castel of Sant'Angelo, Rome**_

 _ **1466**_

His eyes are swift, quickly reading the scribbled words on the white piece of parchment and then turning to face the two men that stand before him; anxious expressions plastered on his face. It pains him to admit that reading such a letter has left him somewhat ill-indisposed and anxious as well. He has always prided himself in being knowledgeable in matters of different realms, but it seems he was wrong.

"How come was I not informed of this matter?" His Holiness, Pope Paul II, asks his nephew, Cardinal Zeno, in a hiss.

"It has been rumored that the King is dismayed by the lack of heirs in his marriage, but there was no information of the sort," Cardinal Zeno answers; the faintest grimace marring his face. It is easy to tell his uncle looks most displeased at being caught by surprise, and he feels responsible. They are men of God, but they must never disregard matters of men, especially Kings.

The young King Niklaus has been known for his jovial disposition ever since he took the crown from Richard; preferring to throw feasts and celebrations instead of engaging in more pious acts. He has also been known for his voracious appetite for the fairer sex. While Paul would prefer that the King set a better example to his own subjects when it comes to spiritual guidance, he isn't naïve. As a King, Niklaus is entitled to mistresses in order to satisfy his out-of-ordinary desires. And not even him, the Head of the Church, would deny the King his rights.

However, this is far graver than one could ever expect. The King seeks to have his marriage to Queen Aurora annulled so he can marry another. Mistresses and bastards are one thing, but this is different.

"The King asks for an annulment," the Pope says, looking down at the missives sprawled on his oak desk.

"An annulment? On what grounds? His marriage to Queen Aurora is lawful in the eyes of God!" Cardinal Sisto cries out; indignation present in his voice as his round and pale face takes on a reddish hue. He is tired of royals believing themselves to be more powerful than God, wishing to have their every sinful demand answered.

"If I may, Your Holiness?" Edward Foxe, Bishop of Hereford, speaks up with some hesitation. Nobody can blame him. After all, which man of God will not be nervous when standing in the presence of the Pope himself?

Paul nods, consenting to hear whatever argument the bishop has concocted to speak in the defense of the King.

"His Grace, King Niklaus wishes to have his marriage annulled on the grounds that his wife is incapable of siring children," he says, proceeding to rummage through his leather pouch to produce a rolled up parchment. "The Queen's physician wrote a document attesting to that fact."

The Pope can barely hide his displeasure; his lips now a pale thin line as he considers the words from Bishop Foxe. Clearly, the English King and his advisors are far from stupid. Just a few months ago, Paul himself consented to the annulment of Dom Felipe's marriage to the daughter of the Duke of Bavaria after the Portuguese King alleged the same motive. They probably believed it would be a simple decision for the Pope and he would rule in the favor.

"I see he seeks a dispensation as well," Paul comments with a frown, somewhat confused by this request. As a King, he is due to marry a Princess of a foreign country, from another established and respected vampire dynasty, and not likely to have any familial ties to her. "I imagine the King already has an intended bride in mind?"

Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, gulps in anxiety before speaking up.

"Yes, Your Holiness. His Grace wishes to marry Lady Bonnie Bennett. She is the daughter of the Earl of Derby, and quite virtuous. It is said that her Grace, Queen Charlotte of France, who is known for her humility and piety, was quite taken with her," Bishop Gardiner recites, being careful to remember all of the important qualities.

"The King wishes to marry one of his subjects?" Pope Paul asks, wishing to keep his composure, but not able to conceal his surprise.

Paul believed the English King had managed to make a more powerful match if he was willing to break a crucial alliance with France. After all, it is known that King Louis has played an important role in the establishment of King Niklaus' reign. He would understand if the King wished to marry the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor, who has an army powerful enough to squash the remaining werewolf threat.

But the daughter of a simple Earl, not even a Duke with fortunes and lands? That decision makes no sense to him.

Both bishops exchange a tense look, not sure how to respond. They are aware of how unprecedented the situation, and as such, it is difficult to know the way to proceed and to characterize the relationship to others.

"The Lady Bennett may be His Grace's subject, but she is a graceful, beautiful and humble lady, and he finds her to be deserving of the title of his wife."

Paul chuckles in amusement, not at all surprised that both bishops seem to be extolling the lady's qualities.

"Well, did you bring Lady Bennett's genealogical tree?" Cardinal Sisto asks with some impatience, noticing the way the bishops gulp in hesitation. "His Holiness will have to examine it before issuing his decision."

"Of course," Bishop Foxe stutters as he hands Cardinal Sisto the requested document. A brief explanation is already planned in his mind, but the pointed look from Cardinal Zeno is enough to let him know what should be his next step. "If you will excuse us."

Bishop Foxe and Bishop Gardiner kiss the Pope's ring and respectfully bow, before leaving the room.

"Oh, the impertinence of this English King!" Cardinal Sisto huffs as soon as the door closes, much to the Pope's amusement. "His union with the Queen is sacred."

"Giovanni, you must learn if you ever wish to become a Pope one day," Paul starts to say, patiently unfurling the parchment over his desk. "Kings and Emperors do not behave the same as common men, and as such, their wishes are different. Yes, his union with Queen Aurora is lawful and recognized by the Church, but we must tread carefully on this matter."

"Certainly Your Holiness does not intend to grant the annulment?" Sisto wonders with a confused frown. In his opinion, the English King's petition should be outright denied.

"The English succession is quite an important matter, Giovanni. King Niklaus is right to be concerned with his wife's inability to have children, for another civil will be devastating," Paul reminds him; eyebrows furrowed at the thought of civil unrest in England.

Too many senseless deaths for a crown and a succession crisis in such a young dynasty would certainly trigger another war, one that could most likely drag many other countries. With war comes famine and plague, something Europe cannot afford to go through again. Granting the King an annulment so he can marry another and secure the succession is an easy decision.

At least it would be if the wife was not the sister to the King of France, a most generous King who has always supported the Church, even when other vampires tried to push for reformation. Agreeing to the removal of Queen Aurora's crown is certain to spoil his relationship with France.

"Your Holiness, before you make any decision, it is wise you see this," Cardinal Zeno advises, pointing to the parchment. The Pope turns his eyes to the object and sighs after reading.

This delicate matter has shown the potential to become even more complicated.

* * *

 _ **Knebworth House**_

 _ **Hertfordshire, 1466**_

The English countryside is beautiful, especially in the spring with colorful gardens filled with blooming flowers and ripe fruits falling from the trees. It is home; familiar and soothing, but part of her misses France. Years as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte caused her to see how lonely her life was. Back in Château d'Amboise, Bonnie was surrounded by laughter and dancing. Now there's only Bess, Dash, her new adorable pup, and her Lady Grandmother.

She is not unhappy, far from it, but each day seems to cause her more and more anxiety. Her father, the Earl of Derby, is on a diplomatic mission through the German duchies, and her Grandmother refuses to discuss the matter of her betrothal in his absence. The silence, the anticipation seems to corrode her from the inside. And her secret, oh her sweet, dangerous secret is just so hard to keep. Bonnie wants to share with Bess the way her heart skips a beat when the King sets his gaze upon her or when he brushes his lips against the back of her hand. Most importantly, Bonnie wants to tell her Lady Grandmother to stop searching for a suitable match, for she is already betrothed to the King.

Bonnie much desires to tell the truth and finally be free to live, but she knows she cannot.

 _If I could bring you to London tomorrow, I would. I would shroud you in golden robes and parade you through the streets of London for all to see the woman who stole their King's heart. But I cannot. The people have to see you as my wide and legitimate queen, not as my mistress. That is why we must be patient. I won't have anyone questioning your legitimacy as my true Queen. London is dreary and cold without your presence by my side and I ache with anxiety to be with you again. It will not be long until you are in my arms. Please accept my humble gift to keep me in your thoughts._

 _Your most loving servant,_

 _Niklaus Rex._

Bonnie read his letter for the fourth time this morning; heart still fluttering with the bittersweet memory of their last moment together. She was so excited then, nearly delirious with happiness. The King of England, a gentle, charming man wanted to take her as his wife. What lady would not swoon with delight? It would all be a dream if it wasn't for one big detail.

Months have passed, more than enough time for the Pope to issue a dispensation, more than enough time to prepare the whole of London for a royal wedding twice over. Yet, she is still here, hidden away in the countryside, yearning for letters and dreading his silence. Aside from him urging for patience, declarations of love, and silly wishes, there is no mention of plans to take her to London. Perhaps there will be no plan for her to join him in London, for them to finally be wed.

Her heart aches; a dull feeling that spreads to the rest of her body as she realizes her own naiveté. The King is married to Princess Aurora, the sister of a king and powerful ally, while she is a witch and part of a family that supported the werewolves in the past. How could she have ever believed she would be a good enough option to become the next Queen of England?

Her distraction with the letter and unpleasant feelings distract her from hearing her Lady Grandmother's hurried steps against the hard floor as she enters her room.

"My child, I have the merriest news!" Sheila exclaims with a bright grin that is much unlike her. Her Lady Grandmother is usually very proper and composed, and not one to express her joy.

Taken by surprise, Bonnie barely has the time to hide the letter; crumpling the paper and sliding it under a book.

"What is it, Grandmother?" Bonnie asks, now filled with genuine curiosity as she looks over Lady Grandmother. "Is father finally coming home?"

"Not yet, he still has to sort some issues, but he writes to me about a proposal he has received from the Earl of Leicester!"

As much as Bonnie tries to conceal it, she can feel herself becoming faint; the blood rushing to her head at a rapid pace. A proposal from a nobleman she has never seen. The title of Earl of Leicester may sound exciting, but Bonnie is only filled with dread and anxiety. This was never supposed to happen.

Niklaus was supposed to ride to Hertfordshire and take her to London before her father could act on his plan to have her betrothed.

"A proposal?" Bonnie stutters, clasping her hands together to will them into stillness. "So soon?"

"Well, not that soon, my dear. You are in your twenties, and by the rules of society, you should have been married for years," Sheila says with a light voice and a chuckle. Her eyes narrow when she fails to notice any excitement in Bonnie. "What is the issue? I would expect you to be happy. The future Earl of Leicester is said to be quite the handsome man."

Bonnie's lips curl in a faint, forced smile. She should be happy about this. As far as betrothal options for her – a witch without a considerable dowry – the future Earl of Leicester is an excellent prospect. She should be thrilled, and yet Niklaus is all she can think about.

"Grandmother, I-" Bonnie hesitates; her eyes downcast as she stares at a spot on the wall. Suddenly she feels foolish, like that sixteen-year-old girl who believed the new King would summon her. Years have passed, but she's returned to the same place.

"Tell me, child."

"I cannot marry the Earl of Leicester's son or any other man that proposes to me, for I have already given my hand to another man."

Bonnie's voice is quiet but steady and confident. Far more confident than she could ever feel.

"Give your hand to another man?" Sheila asks, her face becoming paler and paler with each word she utters. "How? Who?"

"The King, Grandmother," Bonnie whispers; head bowed as she looked anywhere but her eyes.

"The King? What King?" Sheila asks; eyes wide as she attempts to process Bonnie's words. She sighs in resignation when her mind finally puts the pieces together. "King Niklaus. I should have known when I was told the English court was going to Paris."

Bonnie nods, worrying the silk at the hem of her dress as she is overcome with anxiety.

"We are to get married, Grandmother. As soon as the Pope grants him an annulment and gives us a dispensation."

Sheila's features soften, and she reaches her arms out to hug her granddaughter. Bonnie remains still, somewhat confused.

"Oh, child," Sheila breathes out against Bonnie's hair, feeling her own heart twist in a painful way. "How could I miss it? You two are halves of one."

Sheila may not practice witchcraft as much as she used to do when she was younger, but she has never lost her ability to connect with spirits and nature. All of the signs pointing to a connection between Bonnie and the King were obvious. She chose to ignore it, though. The crown of St. Edward and the throne are dangerous, especially to a witch. Not once did Sheila forget about the story of her antecessors, and now she's terrified the same faith may come down on her granddaughter.

"I have come to love him, Grandmother. But I fear we will never come to be," Bonnie confesses, feeling her eyes stinging with unshed tears. It feels good to finally confess after holding on to this secret for so long.

"Tell me," Sheila urges in a gentler tone than one would expect, as she knows Bonnie is far too vulnerable to handle anything other harsher than that.

Surprising herself, the words flow out of Bonnie's lips as she narrates the whole of her and Niklaus' story. The feasts, the masquerade and their stolen moments, it all comes out in rushed whispers. Sheila, for the most part, is able to keep a straight face and not show any kind of emotion.

This is not the time for Sheila to feel. It is the time for her to strategize, as Bonnie is far too naïve and inexperienced in matters of court to do so herself.

"It is clear the Pope is dragging his feet, hoping someone will dissuade the King from seeking the annulment. I would not be surprised to discover Warwick is the one orchestrating to foil the King's plans," Sheila says; her mind already at work thinking of all the political machinations that will have to be done.

"The Earl of Warwick? He is like a father to the King. Certainly, he would not try to cross him."

"Oh, my dear. Warwick is much more than a father to the King. Some even say he is the true King, the one who makes the real decisions."

Bonnie gasps at that. Niklaus is a handsome man with such presence that is hard to imagine any other man attempting to become greater than him.

"You believe Warwick is attempting to dissuade Niklaus from marrying me?" Bonnie wonder with a concerned tone. The Earl of Warwick is known through all of England for his power and influence. If he does not want this marriage, the chances of her becoming Niklaus' wife are smaller than ever.

"Warwick has invested a lot on a French alliance, so I doubt he will be happy with the King seeking an annulment from Queen Aurora," Sheila explains; pursed lips as she thinks of the Earl of Warwick.

Their paths have not crossed yet, but the stories about him have made Sheila all but despise him. She loathed power hungry vampires, after all. Foiling his plans would be quite amusing.

"Tell me, what is it that you want, Bonnie? You remember what happened to the last witch queen of England. Is that what you want, to become Queen?"

Bonnie takes a step back, feeling a layer of panic envelop her like a warm blanket would. It may be surprising, but the thought of being Queen has never been on the forefront of her mind.

"I wish to be his wife."

Sheila bites back a smile. Oh, her granddaughter remains the sweetest rose of them all. How amazing it is that after years around the French, some of the most cunning minds, and she is still this innocent.

"You may wish to only be his wife, but the others will brand you as a social climber that seduced your way to the throne."

"We have never-"

"I know, but many nobles will not hesitate in calling you a whore. As a Queen, you must rise above it and show them you are better than their petty gossip, even if it hurts. Is that what you want?"

Bonnie opens her mouth, but no words come out. After a quiet life in the country and then nestled at Château d'Amboise, Bonnie knows she is more sheltered than most high ranking women at court. The intricacies of court are a mystery to her, and as such, they scare her to no end. However, the thought of a bland existence trapped in an arranged marriage terrifies her even more.

"Yes, Grandmother. I wish to be his wife and his queen."

* * *

 ** _Westminster Palace_**

 ** _London, 1466_**

Klaus blinks slowly, willing his eyes to focus on the jumbled letters scrawled on the rolled out piece of parchment. It has been a most exhausting day, one that required all of his energy. The Scots continue to give them on the borders, part of the North is still loyal to Richard and it seems they will always remain so, some of the nobles are unsatisfied with their position at court.

And the worst of all, there has been nothing but silence from Pope Paul. Months have passed since his bishops returned from Rome, more than enough time to have an answer. Klaus has studied enough canonical law to be familiar with the proceedings of annulment and papal dispensations. The King of Portugal was able to marry his new bride just a few weeks after asking the Pope for a divorce. There is no reason to explain why the Pope seems to be dragging his feet to come to a verdict on this matter.

"Do my eyes deceive me? Is my brother, a lover of simple pleasures, stuck in his study with a pile of documents instead of outside drinking wine and dancing the volta?" Elijah, the Duke of Somerset, asks with a mocking scandalized tone as he ventures inside the chamber.

It is a summer evening, and most of the courtiers are enjoying their only reprieve to such a hot day; a feast outdoors on the gardens with plenty of wine to keep them refreshed.

Klaus, much to everyone's surprise, decided to stay behind and not partake in the evening's entertainment. After another frustrating session with the Privy Council, especially with Warwick still questioning him on the matter of his impending divorce, he is hardly in good spirits to attend a feast.

"England demands too much of time, brother!" Klaus comments; the easiest excuse he could offer. After all, the duties of a King never end. The duties of a King with divorce on his mind are even more exhausting. Klaus knows he cannot afford to lose the nobles' support, so it is best not to allow himself these frivolities.

The sound of a succession of rapid knocks against the door fills the silent room.

"I bring important news, Your Grace!"

After a nod from Klaus, one of the guards moves from his post to open the door, revealing a young man with a red face and anxious expression. He approaches them with uneasy steps.

"A letter from Rome, your Grace," the man says as he reaches for his bag, producing two letters from his pocket. "And a letter from Hertfordshire."

Klaus feels his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach at the mention of Rome. After months of silence, it would seem that the Pope has finally reached a decision.

As soon as the man leaves the chambers, Klaus breaks the seal of the Pope and unfolds the paper. After years of reading countless piles of documents, Klaus is quick to read through the letter; becoming furious with each word on the parchment.

"Well, what does Pope Paul say?"

"His Holiness," Klaus starts to say; making no attempt to disguise his contempt for the man. Has decided he will not grant me a divorce on ground of infertility because he does not believe it to be truth, as Aurora has conceived many times. He says the miscarriages and stillbirths are God's will, and not even a king can oppose that."

Klaus crushes the paper with both hands, wishing it was actually the Pope's neck he was wringing. Many may call him blasphemous for that, but Klaus does not care. Damn him. Why couldn't the Pope and all of his Cardinal advisors realize his desire for a divorce is also a wish to avoid another civil war in England? Aurora may be beautiful, with an impeccable royal lineage, but she has failed in the most important duty of a Queen.

Elijah runs a hand through his hair, sighing with concern. In a way, he is not surprised by the Pope's decision. After all, Aurora is King Louis' beloved sister and the Pope is afraid of defying the powerful monarch. Not to mention the important detail concerning Lady Bennett's lineage.

However, Elijah can see this decision has left his brother quite distraught, especially after reading the other letter. Though he has seen Niklaus in battle, at the height of his fury, it surprises him to see him in such a state. His brother is no longer seated at the table. Instead, he paces back and forth; dragging his feet over the rug and resembling an animal ready to attack. For a moment, Elijah is afraid Niklaus will turn into a wolf right here and now.

"It is a letter from Bonnie," he growls; face reddening as if he spent an entire day under the sun. "She informs me that her father has found her a match that no mind in his right mind can deny, and he wishes to secure a betrothal to the future Earl of Leicester. Apparently, the Earl of Derby is anxious for a wedding in the begging of the autumn!"

Klaus slams his closed fist on the oak table, feeling something akin to desperation run through his veins. It is as if he is back on the battlefield; his blood running hot as he tries to think of the right strategy. He's losing. The Pope has openly stated his regard for France over England, and now Bonnie's father is pushing her into the arms of another man. He may be the King, but now he feels like the small, weak boy that used to be mocked by his father.

"I suppose the Earl is unaware of your intentions towards his daughter," Elijah comments as he pours them a good amount of wine and hands the goblet to his brother.

"I thought it would be best if I announced my intentions after the Pope granted my divorce. I did not want tongues wagging all around court about her. She is not my mistress and should not be treated as such," Klaus hisses before tipping the goblet and drinking the wine to its last drop. As much as he knows he should keep a clear mind for this, being inebriated is quite compelling to him in the present moment.

Elijah is silent as he notices the fierce protectiveness of Niklaus towards Lady Bennett. Even though his brother seemed quite taken with her, Elijah half expected him to give up this senseless pursuit for a divorce after a while. Seeing his strong reaction to the Pope's decision is somewhat disconcerting and surprising.

"Well, perhaps it is for the best. Displeasing Louis would not be the wisest decision," Elijah comments in an attempt to calm him, but it is apparent it only makes him more incensed.

"I am King because of my unwise decisions, Elijah! Besides, the Pope has made his preference for France quite obvious! The King of Portugal was free to marry after two years of a childless marriage and now the Pope refuses to grant me the same privilege," Klaus growls; the anger causing his stomach to churn to the point of nausea. Is he not a King? And king of a great country. Bowing down to the Pope while he looks down on him can only make him weak. "No, brother. I have a much better idea to show the Pope he should not underestimate me in favor of France. Now, if you excuse me, I must speak to Lord Cummings before he retires."

With no words after his announcement, Klaus all but skips out of his chamber, leaving Elijah to fear for what his brother may do in the future.

* * *

 _ **Palace of Placentia**_

 _ **Greenwich, 1466**_

Protected from the bright sun by a canopy, Queen Aurora of England furrows her eyebrows in concentration as she works on embroidering some linen sheets and shirts. Around her, some of her ladies-in-waiting frolic around the garden, barefooted, wearing wreaths on their heads, and absolutely enjoying the freedom that comes with being away from a stifling court.

Even though Aurora is more than pleased to leave the hot and crowded Westminster Palace, she cannot shrug off the feeling that she is missing something by not being in court. After all, a Queen must always be kept up to date with all of the matters related to the realm. With all of the turmoil in her marriage- her inability to bear healthy children, and the stubborn rumors about her husband's fondness for another woman- Aurora did not want to be far from court and Niklaus. Her brother Tristen, however, had quite a different opinion on how she should deal with the matter.

"Do not attempt to hold onto him, men absolutely despise a desperate woman. Put some distance, retire from court. Engage in charity, go to mass and look beautiful, but humble. No ostentatious jewelry. Your husband is an obstinate man who won a crown because of his stubbornness. If he wishes to divorce you, I doubt there will be someone who can convince him otherwise. You need to remind England you are their rightful Queen."

Tristen wisely advised in one of their correspondences, and Aurora decided to comply, even though playing humble did not fit her personality.

"Your Grace!" Louise, her head lady-in-waiting and trusted confidante, calls out as she crosses the gardens in hasty steps.

"What is it, Louise? You are almost tripping over your dress!" Aurora questions with a chuckle as she sets the embroidered shirt aside. The humor in her expression melts away when she notices the hesitation in Louise. "Tell me!"

"Well, Annie was just here, Your Grace," Louise stutters, much to Aurora's trepidation. As Annie is Palace worker who agreed to keep them up to date with the events at court, Aurora can only imagine what she had to report.

"And what did Annie have to say?"

"Well, it would seem that his Grace is preparing for a grand event as he has summoned many Lords to court-"

"Louise, is that what worries you so? It is summer, the King is probably bored and looking for a way to amuse himself."

"There is also a rumor that His Grace has personally invited a young woman to come to London and stay at Stafford House."

Despite the sun; so warm over them, Aurora feels cold as if she was standing outside on the frozen weather. She's a Queen and before she became a Queen, she was a Princess. Her husband's infidelity does not have the ability to faze her anymore. Mistresses come and go like the weather and never stay too long to leave a lingering impression. They are usually girls who with pretty eyes and ambition to achieve a better position in court.

This, however, is different. Stafford House is Niklaus's personal residence. The place he has purchased himself and sought to have it renovated to reflect his tastes. It is his haven away from court, but close enough for him to deal with any urgent matters should they arise. If any mistress is staying there, she is no longer a mere mistress and a threat.

"Louise, you must return to Westminster Palace and find out the truth! Discover the identity of this woman and the reason for her stay at Stafford House," Aurora instructs; her mind already slipping into a plotting mode.

If the salacious rumors are to be believed, there are plans to rob her of her crown, and she cannot allow it to happen without putting up a fight.

* * *

 ** _Stafford House_**

 ** _St. James's District, London, 1466_**

"Amazing, isn't it?" Sheila comments with a small smile when she notices her granddaughter staring out at the manicured gardens; her mind looking so far away she might be back in Paris. "I have grown fond of the country, but there is something about London that I cherish. I know you are accustomed to French palaces that are furnished with gold and marble-"

"It is all very beautiful, Grandmother," Bonnie interrupts with a nod, as she surveys the room.

France may have its glittering palaces with silk, crystals and gold, but they could be so terribly cold. A gilded cage, as Queen Charlotte once spoke. But this place is warm and inviting, beautiful enough to distract Bonnie from her dizzying nerves.

She's in London. After months of nothing but letters from Niklaus and gifts that could never make up for their distance, she's finally close to him. Her heart has been skipping a beat ever since she received the summoning letter bearing the royal seal, and it has yet to calm down.

If her sweeping romance with the King felt like a sweet figment of her imagination while she was at Knebworth House, it certainly feels real now. And it is enough to terrify Bonnie.

For some reason, Bonnie believed she would be prepared to undertake such a change. How naïve of her. After all, she was the witch daughter of an Earl. How could she ever be ready to become the Queen of England?

"Are you alright, child? You look quite pale," Sheila asks; her dark eyebrows furrowing as she places a hand on Bonnie's forehead.

"I am fine, Grandmother," Bonnie assures; her faint voice betraying her words. It is Grandmother's insistent gaze that breaks her down. "I am so scared! Look at all of this!"

She gestures to the room they're in; private chambers fit for a royal. Furnished with a grand bed, wood panels and tapestries, it is more luxurious than Bonnie could ever imagine. Even though she has been sleeping in this very room for the past couple of days, it still feels strange. It is like the portraits on the wall know she does not belong there. A silly thought, she knows, but it only heightens her insecurity. Even though she's wearing one of the richest dresses she's ever owned – a dark blue piece made of silk with flowers embroidered with gold thread – and her hair is impeccably coiffed with curls, Bonnie cannot help but feel inadequate.

"It is normal to be scared, my child. Being a queen is not an easy task, but I am sure His Grace will guide you. And I will be here to guide as well," Sheila's tone is soft enough to comfort her, and yet emphatic enough to not leave room for any doubt.

"Excuse, my Ladies, but His Grace has arrived and is asking for Lady Bennett," Mary, one of the ladies called to wait on Bonnie during her stay at Stafford House, announces with a polite curtsey.

"Well, it is time for the elderly such as myself to retire. Please give my regards to His Grace. And Bonnie? Do not forget. You are here to be his wife, not his mistress."

The message is implicit, but clear enough to Bonnie. Do not give in to his demands. While a demure lady, Grandmother was not shy when discussing these matters with her ever since they were summoned to London. Lying with King without being lawful wedded to him will only bring her sorrow. No nobleman or woman will ever truly accept a mistress as a Queen. Her Lady Grandmother has repeated it so many times that Bonnie already knows the words by heart.

Bonnie blushes, as she always does when this particular subject is brought up. As it would seem, years in France have not made her bold and skillful in the art of seduction.

"I do not forget, Grandmother."

"Good," Sheila says and pats Bonnie's cheek. "A marriage that begins with love is so very rare and I'm overjoyed that you have that, but you should remain wise."

Bonnie offers her grandmother a stiff nod, feeling overcome with nerves once again. Just why did she ever believe she could be a Queen?

* * *

The nerves and the doubting questions that have been pestering her all but disappear when Bonnie sees _him._ For some reason, the sight of him is quite comforting to her. After months of only staring at the small portrait he gifted her, Bonnie can now realize that the painting, while beautiful, does not do him any justice.

"Your Grace," she murmurs with a bow; her demure tone turning into a squeal when he wraps his arms around her waist.

"I can hardly believe you are here, my love," he murmurs as the back of his hand caresses her face.

There is something in the way he looks at her that makes Bonnie tingle. After so long, she has almost forgotten the way he makes her feel. Precious and oh, so warm.

"It pleases me to know Your Grace has missed me as much I have missed you," Bonnie whispers, trying to conceal the excitement that leaves her dizzy or the longing she has felt for him.

All that she desires is to reach for him and inhale the familiar scent he exudes. But she's a respectable Lady and he's her sovereign, so her hands remain clasped together.

"My Lady, being distant from you has turned me into quite the dreadful lad. I am sure all of the Palace's servants will be pleased to know we are reunited," Klaus confesses with a jovial laugh as he remembers the bouts of anger he's suffered in the past months.

For the first time in his life, he's missed someone else's presence in such a keen manner that it made his own body hurt. His unfamiliarity with the feeling, coupled with his erratic werewolf side, caused him to lash out.

"I am certain Your Grace is far from being a lad!" she chuckles, finding hard to perceive him as a regular man instead of the conqueror king he is.

"Have I ever told you that I believe you should call me Niklaus?" Klaus takes a step forward; standing close enough for Bonnie to see specks of gold on the blue of his eyes. "My name will sound quite beautiful when coming from your lips."

The pads of his fingers trace her lips; a touch so light and feathery that Bonnie wonders if she is imagining it. She blinks, sensing the urge to get closer to him, but forces herself to stay still.

"There will be no formalities between us when we are in private. After all, you are to be my wife."

The grin on his face is so bright and confident that Bonnie becomes careless.

"Am I? Am I to be your wife?" Bonnie blurts out the question; her eyes widening slightly when she realizes the words that have escaped from her mouth. For a moment she wants to run the opposite direction and hide, but she remains strong. "Forgive me for being forward, but I have been so overcome by anxiety at the thought of our future and it only gets worse with each passing day."

"There is no need to apologize, my love," he assures; bringing both of her hands to his lips in a small gesture of comfort. "I understand the waiting has taken a toll on both of us."

"Is it over? Are we free to marry?"

Bonnie may not have the best instruction on the workings of papal dispensations, but enough time has passed for the Pope to make his decision.

"Not yet, love. It would seem that the Pope is hesitant on doing the right thing and granting me an annulment."

"He refused?" Bonnie wonders; feeling her body deflate due to sheer disappointment.

Even though it's only been a few months, she's allowed herself to dream about him and the life they would have together. She's allowed herself to fall in love with the man who writes her the sweetest of words and makes her feel cherished. The thought of letting him go; of him returning to a life with his wife is just devastating to Bonnie.

"Shh, do not be like that, sweetheart," Klaus pleads in a soft murmur; his lips just touching the lobe of her ear.

The way he wipes the wet streak on her cheek left by tears is so gentle that Bonnie's heart actually aches. The Pope will not allow them to be together. How is she supposed to forget him?

"We will never be married, then," Bonnie whispers, almost grimacing as she utters the words; looking down to the floor.

"Bonnie," he cups her face, tilting it so their eyes are meeting. "With God as my witness, we shall be married at Westminster Abbey and you will be crowned my queen consort."

"But the Pope-"

"The Pope will submit if he's wise, as I intend to show him just how valuable you are to me and to England."

"Valuable to England? How?"

"Just trust me, love."

* * *

 ** _Windsor Castle_**

 ** _Berkshire, 1466_**

It is an utter travesty. That single thought swirls through Alaric's mind as he stretches his lips in a thin line and tries to keep a neutral expression. After all, he may be the Earl of Warwick – the Kingmaker – but not even he would dare to show his displeasure. And it is quite the displeasure he harbors.

The girl is rather pretty, Alaric can admit. Not as beautiful as Queen Aurora and not pretty enough to make his cousin lose all of his wits. He was right when he accused Niklaus of thinking with his britches instead of his brain. Why else would he go to such lengths to slight his wife, France and mock the Pope's decision? And to do it in this public display is such a foolish decision!

Alaric worked tirelessly to make sure France would offer their support to Niklaus, a young, conqueror king instead of Richard, and this is how Niklaus decides to repay his hard work and years of friendship between countries? If he could wring his cousin's neck without being thrown into the Tower, he would.

His disgust is diluted by fury and astonishment as Lady Bonnie's new title is announced to all who are present. Duchess of Kendal and March. Gasps are heard from some nobles who seem to be too shocked to conceal their true emotion. Alaric can hardly blame them. Niklaus has just made a simple Earl's daughter – a witch! – into a Duchess in her own right. With the titles and lands conferred to her, the King has solidified Lady Bonnie's position as one of the richest women in court, perhaps all of England.

The taunt to Rome and those who object to his union with her is even more obvious with the choice of her title. Niklaus himself bore the title of Earl of Kendal and Esther's male antecessors, the Mortimers, have held the title of Earl of March for hundreds of years. By creating Bonnie Bennett the Duchess of Kendal and March, Niklaus has all but announced his intentions towards her.

God help them all, for the King seems to be intent on crossing the Pope and his allies.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, guys! The chapter was extra long to make up for the long wait, and I hope it was juicy, too. The Pope weighed on the matter of the annulment, Bonnie is finally in London, Klaus is ready to defy the Pope and everyone else, and Alaric does not like it one bit! There's a lot to come, and I'm excited to write the next chapters! Let me know your opinion!**


	7. VII - Dispensation

_**Windsor Castle, Berkshire**_

 _ **June 1466**_

His Grace, Niklaus I, seems to be as pleased as one can be. Illuminated by the bright sunlight, everyone around him is able to notice his constant smiling and belly laughs as the court convenes in the courtyard.

In any other occasion, Cardinal Thomas Beckington, the King's Lord Chancellor, would be just as pleased. After all, His Grace has been in quite a disagreeable mood ever since returning from France. However, Beckington is wise enough to know he should not be so naïve.

He is painfully aware that the cause for his sovereign's joy has the potential to bring grief for the entire country. In a way, he is not surprised with Niklaus' willingness to defy all norms just so he can send a message. After all, the King is an obstinate warrior, used to getting whatever he wants in life.

Thomas is surprised that Niklaus seems to be serious about this matter. When he first approached him with questions pertaining to legalities and consequences of an annulment, Thomas did not give it a lot of thought and chalked this line of questioning as frustration. Queen Aurora had suffered another miscarriage, causing the doctors to advise her to halt any attempts to conceive for at least six months, and it was clear that the royal nursery would remain empty for another year. How mistaken he had been.

The King returned from May Day celebrations with a new glint in his eyes and smiled proudly as he announced his decision. He wished to have his marriage annulled so he could take another woman as his wife. If that woman was the Infanta Juana or another princess from a powerful empire, Thomas was sure the Pope would not oppose. The woman in question, however, was just an Earl's daughter and a witch. His unwillingness to dissolve the marriage and grant a dispensation was to be expected.

What was not to be expected was Niklaus' swift response to the Pope's decision. Not once, ever since William the Conqueror's time, was a woman created a Duchess in her own right.

"I don't remember ever seeing His Grace so overjoyed," Cardinal Vicenza comments with a frown as he approaches Cardinal Beckington, not once taking his eyes off the window that faced the courtyard. "It is as if he takes pleasure in defying His Holiness and creating rumors around his court."

Beckington doesn't say anything in response, as he is aware that Vicenza expects him to chime in agreement. The man may have achieved a high position in Rome as one of His Holiness' trusted men, but it is clear he has spent way too much time dealing with divine matters instead of matters of real men. Or better yet, Kings.

"Oh, Vicenza, Are you so naïve that you believe the King's actions were done only to displease His Holiness and unsettle a court with a penchant for gossip?"

Taken by surprise, Cardinal Vicenza raises his pale eyebrows until they almost touch his hairline. Beckington huffs with a hint of impatience for the Cardinal's ignorance.

"Pardon?"

"It would be wise of you and of Rome to see His Grace's gesture for what it really is," Beckington advises as he takes a seat and gestures Vicenza to do the same. He may not realize it, but the conversation they need to have is quite grave and concerns the future of England. "Him making Lady Bennett the Duchess of Kendal and March is not just a way to aggrieve the Pope. It is merely the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"Your Eminence, Rome may attempt to ignore the matter, but we both know the winds of reformation blow swiftly across Europe, becoming particularly strong in the German states. England has always been a staunch supporter of His Holiness and Rome."

"But?" Vicenza prompts, cocking his head to the side, interested in knowing the rest of Beckington's argument.

"His Grace has made it clear to me that he intends on having the Lady Bennett as his wife at any cost. Granting her titles that have belonged to his family for centuries was only the first step in achieving that."

If this wasn't such a serious matter, Beckington would have laughed at the expression of indignation on Vicenza's face.

"The King already has a wife in Queen Aurora! They are married in the eyes of God!" Cardinal Vicenza exclaims; his pale face turning red.

"I would say, many couples have been married in the eyes of God and then unmarried," Beckington points out with a subtle sneer. The hypocrisy of them is astounding. "Queen Aurora, bless her, has an impeccable lineage, but her womb does not seem to want to do its business. His Grace is not a simple man, he is a King and a king needs sons. Civil war is one riding accident away, and he is painfully aware of that."

"You speak of the sacrament of matrimony as if it is nothing," Vicenza comments in a reproaching tone.

If Beckington was younger or any less of a skeptic, he would have felt bad, embarrassed for his words. As Lord Chancellor of England, Cardinal Beckington understands his priorities.

"I speak of practical matters that the Church seems to be ignoring. His Grace is willing to do anything to marry his witch, and that includes breaking from Rome," Beckington says as he shuffles through letters, ignoring the shocked look on Cardinal Vicenza's face.

"Beckington, what is it you say?"

His Italian accent becomes thicker as the English language escapes him. How can he think in English after learning such a shocking information?

"In a matter of months, the threat of excommunication will not be an issue to His Grace. Heed my warning, if the Pope does not change his decision, England will be lost to Rome!"

Cardinal Vicenza wishes he could say Beckington is exaggerating; trying to paint a grim picture so he will pressure His Holiness, but he cannot.

An annulment and a papal dispensation will decide the future of the Catholic Church in England.

* * *

 _ **Windsor Castle, Berkshire**_

 _ **June 1466**_

One could perhaps say the King of England is hiding from the watchful eyes of his Lords and the never-ending gossip that seems to follow him. Even though he would deny it – he's King and as such, he cannot admit to hiding from anyone – Niklaus Mikaelson is certainly relieved to be dining by himself in the privacy of his own chambers. The usual custom after a day of sports and hunting is a grand feast at the great hall, but tonight he is only waited by Brandon, his chamber valet and the musician, who plays a slow melody on the violin in the outer chamber.

A brief moment of peace to soothe his mind; exhausted after a day with unsatisfied nobles. Unsurprisingly, his bold move to invest Bonnie with the title of Duchess has rattled many of the senior nobles in court, and he would have to keep them content. After all, he needed their support if he wanted Bonnie on the throne.

Through the soft melody produced by the violin strings, the sound of a slamming door echoes through the chambers and Klaus knows his moment of peace is no more. The familiar clicking on the hard floor and the sweet scent of roses are enough to let him know who is responsible for such disruption.

"Aurora! It is a surprise to see you here. I thought you were in Greenwich," Klaus greets in an even tone, looking up from his plate of venison. Such a delightful meal and he will not be able to finish it.

"Does your derision for me know no bounds?" Aurora demands as she storms into his inner chambers; a flurry of dark orange silk trailing behind her. In the candlelight, she looks like a flame of wildfire. "Is that what you enjoy? Humiliating me at every turn you get?"

Klaus takes a deep gulp of wine, trying to sooth the strange sensation that turns his stomach in an unpleasant way.

"I do not wish to humiliate you, Aurora."

"Perhaps you have a misguided idea of what humiliation entails because I dread to imagine what you would do if you actually wished to humiliate me!" Aurora exclaims, drawing both hands into fists so tight that her nails begin to sink into her flesh. "Have I become so detestable that you want to see me broken?"

Despite her tough and polite exterior, created by years of impeccable upbringing and education from the best tutors in Europe, Aurora is still fragile. And seeing her in such distress gives him an uneasy feeling. His desire for an annulment has more to do with himself than her. To say Aurora has been the perfect Queen is an understatement. He may have won the crown on the battlefield, but the support for his reign came after his marriage. Perhaps if God saw it fit to grant them with children, if he had not laid eyes on Bonnie ever again, he would not seek to end their union. But now that he knows the feeling of losing himself to another person, Klaus cannot stay anymore.

"I doubt that I could break you, Aurora. Had you been born a man, you would be invincible. A more dangerous threat than your brothers combined."

Aurora snorts, skeptic and unladylike. In another time, she would have beamed at his words. Now, she knows they are empty, meant to flatter her.

"Do not condescend me. Not when you have humiliated me by making your mistress a Duchess, giving her a yearly allowance as large a mine, making her one of the highest ranked ladies in England!" Aurora cried out; the storm brewing behind her blue eyes as her hands tremble ever so slightly. This is highly irregular; her showing so much emotion towards her husband, her King, and she hardly knows how to regain control.

"She is not my mistress, Aurora."

"Oh, yes. I forget, she is not your mistress. I have received a letter from Beckington to inform me you plan on seeking a divorce and she is to be your wife!"

In a way, Aurora would prefer to bear the humiliation of Klaus having his newly invested mistress prancing around court than reading a letter from Beckington – Beckington of all people! – announcing the King's intentions. Her husband, so mighty and brave, could not even tell her himself of his wishes?

Klaus opens his mouth and snaps it shut a second later. He was a coward, so there is no excuse to be given.

"Is that what you truly wish? To end our marriage so you can marry your little social climbing lady?" Aurora asks; her tone more acidic than she would like. A Queen should never show her true emotions, should never allow others to know her thoughts and emotions. She has always believed that, but right now she does not care anymore. She is about to be replaced by a little upstart, and not one of her tutors could have prepared her for that.

"I have made her a Duchess because it was my wish," Klaus argues, sighing because he's exhausted from having to explain himself. Is he not the fucking King? Why must he answer for his actions?

"As it is your wish to ruin me?"

"I have said it before, Aurora. I do not intend on humiliating you or causing you any harm," he says, hoping she would finally believe him.

"Then why do you brand me as barren? Even as a princess, my reputation will be destroyed. No suitable man will ever agree to a match," Aurora murmurs, feeling a bout of nausea overtake her in such a sharp way that she has to grip the edge of the table for balance.

Becoming a discarded Queen is a humiliating prospect, but being branded as a woman incapable of producing children is just too harrowing of a thought. She would be a virtual exile then; hidden from other nobles until her existence turns into nothing but a memory. The House of Bourbon despises weakness, after all. Aurora doubts her brother would allow her- the forsaken and infertile wife of the English King - to reside at the Louvre, parading through Paris.

No, if the Pope ever grants this annulment, if he declares her to be barren, her life will be over.

"You know I cannot be quiet and accept this. My brother has written to me, commanding me to oppose any of your requests," Aurora says; thinking of the pile of parchments sitting on her desk. Letters from Louis and Tristan expressing their indignation at Niklaus' boldness. After all, it is Aurora who has an impeccable royal, while Niklaus can be considered a usurper.

"I would not expect any different from him," Klaus mutters with a subtle smirk; one that Aurora can't quite decipher. "And is that what you intend to do? Heed your brother's advice and drag this matter until the bitter end?"

As she takes a deep, drawn-out breath until she doesn't feel quite as sick, Aurora feels his eyes on her. To think she longed to have his gaze upon her once again.

"Perhaps this bitter end is better than what awaits me in France, should I return as a discarded, infertile woman," Aurora ponders with a quiet tone. Her slightly raised chin indicates she will not bow down to all of his decisions.

Klaus takes a small sip of his wine, not because he is thirsty, but because he feels restless and needs to do something to do. This conversation has taken an unexpected turn, leaving him unsure of what should be his next move. While his desire for Bonnie is great and burning, what kind of man would he be if he so carelessly condemned Aurora to a miserable life?

"If you agree not to oppose the annulment, then perhaps I could make it possible for you to stay here instead of returning to France. Become a Duchess and receive your own household in a residence of your choice, granted they are not any of the royal residences," Klaus offers after a moment of silence, confident that his proposition is most ideal. After all, Aurora has warmed to England, a surprised to all of them, considering she is the perfect French princess. And the French have always looked at the English court with disdain.

Aurora bites her lower lip, clasping her hands together as she considers this unexpected offer.

"While I am not sure I appreciate your attempt to mollify me with titles and lands, I will consider it after I take counsel. There is one condition, though,"

"What is it?"

"Have your bishops and canon law scholars find some other pretext to justify the annulment. I will _not_ be branded as a barren woman. Eleanor of Aquitaine was unable to provide King Louis heirs and even he didn't humiliate her in such manner."

Her words; spoken in her usual soft tone, have a cutting effect on him. She's managed to dismantle him in just a couple of sentences by comparing him to King Louis VII.

"I will inform Cardinal Beckington," he concedes; somewhat surprised with his ability to conceal his emotions. "I- thank you, Aurora."

The last sentence tumbles out of his lips without a second thought, and for a moment, Klaus wonders if he was compelled.

"As you wish, Your Grace," Aurora says; bowing to him with as much grace as she can muster.

It is as if the bright fire that filled her just a few moments ago was snuffed out; coldness standing in its place as Aurora feels resignation washing over her. As she leaves his chambers, her head is still held high, ignoring the not so subtle stares from courtiers. Discarded or not, she's still the daughter of a King and will remain as Queen of England until the Pope says otherwise.

* * *

 _ **Stafford House, London**_

 _ **June 1466**_

It is as if everything has remained the same while drastically changing. Ever since their return from Windsor Castle, it was made clear to them that it was the King's wish that they remain at Stafford House; the luxurious place now their official London residence. And by his Grace's command – a gentle one, but a command nonetheless – Bonnie now lives in quite a new reality, different from anything she's ever known.

Yes, she's become accustomed to palaces and refinement after being Queen Charlotte's lady-in-waiting, but she is certainly not used to having so many eyes on her. In France, she was little more than an afterthought, an accessory meant to make the Queen look good. In Hertfordshire, she was a girl, allowed to run through the gardens with her hair undone and barefooted, allowed to learn how to ride astride and how to shoot the bow and arrow.

Now all eyes seem to be fixed on her, trying to figure her out as if she is a puzzle. She is not alone with her Grandmother, Bess and Dash anymore. Unlike Knebworth, that has always been calm and quiet, Stafford House boasts agitation, especially after her investiture ceremony.

Bonnie may be young and not as educated as one could be, but she's observant. And by observing, she's realized the subtle differences around her. For one, it would seem that the household has expanded, with the number of ladies attending her has almost doubled. And the behavior of those surrounding her has also changed. Ever since her arrival at Stafford House, the servants have treated her with respect, as the King's guest. Now, there is deference in how they address, in how they even look at her. At first Bonnie believed her new position as Duchess to be the reason for such change, but she's come to realize she was mistaken about that.

In another bold move that even left Bonnie surprised, Klaus declared Stafford House as an official royal residence, all but dictating how she should be treated. It was also a sign of the future to come.

As much as she has waited for this moment, when they would finally be able to show others they are to marry, Bonnie cannot ignore the weird sensation that has been nagging her.

"Is there a reason for the frown on your face, Your Grace?" The familiar voice asks, and Bonnie looks up to see her Grandmother. A welcome sight, even if the new form of address bothers Bonnie.

"Grandmother, please. I cannot bear the thought of you treating me differently as well," Bonnie says with a sigh; the frown becoming even more noticeable.

Sheila chuckles, somewhat amused by her granddaughter's mild distress. Her darling Bonnie has become one of the most important women in England, perhaps _the_ most important woman outside of the royal family, and yet, she wants everything to stay as it is.

"I am afraid I will have to, child. That is what the King wishes, for you to be placed above all of us. And not even I can go against the King's wishes," Sheila explains as she moves to stand next to Bonnie, hoping that her close presence will bring her granddaughter some comfort. "What is that?"

"His Grace believes it is wise to begin some of the wedding preparations. The seamstresses have sent me this so I can choose," Bonnie explains; arranging the items so Sheila can see them better.

A collection of fabrics, all of them made from the most luxurious silks one could acquire in England, all of them too exquisite for words. Even Sheila, who does not place much stock on expensive things, is impressed. The pure white silk embroidered with gold thread must be worth a small fortune, as does the ivory colored silk.

"Any lady would be overjoyed by this, and yet you look like you have taken ill."

"I am overjoyed, Grandmother, but it does not feel right to be picking out silk for wedding dresses when the groom still has a wife!" Bonnie exclaims; the unexpected squeaky tone of her voice showing more emotion than she would have liked.

Not wishing to be seen as ungrateful, Bonnie's never aired out those particular feelings.

"Child?" Sheila asks; furrowed eyebrows as she tilts her head in an attempt to figure out the reason for Bonnie's distress.

"Queen Aurora was a Princess of France, a King's daughter. And now she is to be discarded as if she is little more than a commoner. If that can happen to her, what kind of faith awaits me, Grandmother?"

Looking down, Sheila notices the trail of tears running down Bonnie's cheek; the usually warm hue of her skin now pale. Oh, her poor child was so worked up that she even made herself sick. Not that Sheila blamed her. The weight of the crown is already pushing down on Bonnie and it hasn't even been placed on her head yet.

"Oh, child. Queen Aurora's womb did not do what it was supposed to do, and that is why the King wants a divorce," Sheila says; her tone so practical and matter of fact that she sounds cold and unfeeling. It is not intentional, but it is enough to make Bonnie draw in a sharp breath.

"And if _my_ womb does not do its business? What if I lose the King's favor?"

That particular question has been haunting Bonnie ever since her investment ceremony; when she realized how dependent she is on the King. A patent and a proclamation, and she was created Duchess of Kendal and March. Her new status is owed to the King's generosity, and they all know generosity can run out at the drop of a hat. A noble may have his titles and lands one day and find himself banished from court and without any prestige the other.

"Bonnie, as women in this world, we are cursed to stand behind men," Sheila starts to say, feeling her chest tightens painfully as she thinks of the mess created by vampires and werewolves when they came into power.

Such ridiculous beliefs, thinking that men should take precedence to women. To Sheila, a descendant of a great witch house, their opinions have always seemed quite distasteful, but such is the world they all live in.

"But you are a witch, my darling. Descended from Madeleine herself. You are strong and it is obvious the King adores you."

"And if he comes to adore another as much as he does me? What will happen then?"

It is both terrifying and _so_ painful to think of the King coveting another woman, writing her sweet letters and whispering loving words. Somehow, Bonnie does not think her heart would be able to take it. Perhaps that is the reason why she is so scared.

"As much as it pains me to say this, nothing will matter then. Because you will be Queen, and there are many things, awful things, you will have to bear."

It breaks Sheila's heart that she cannot promise that Bonnie's future will be a happy one.

"I noticed the way they looked at me. Norfolk, Suffolk, Sussex, they all seem to despise me. I fear I will never be accepted, Grandmother," Bonnie confesses. Their ill-concealed expressions of indignation are still brandished on her memory.

"They will fall in line eventually. They just do not appreciate seeing that their King is not afraid to think for himself. They expected a boy to manipulate, after all," Sheila assures her, not entirely certain her words are true. The vampire nobility is not known for its loyalty or acceptance.

In a way, Sheila fears Bonnie will have to carve out her own way in court, and will not have it as easy as Queen Aurora.

"Do not despair, my child. I will help guide you through the treacherous path of court."

* * *

 _ **Castel of Sant'Angelo, Rome**_

 _ **June 1466**_

His Holiness, Pope Paul, curls his lips in a subtle smile, holding his right hand out for the man in front of him to kiss his signet ring as customary.

"I trust you had a safe journey," he comments, motioning for Cardinal Vicenza to take a seat. The Cardinal nods to indicate that yes, he had a safe journey, but fails to elaborate.

After years around Vicenza, Paul is familiar with his mannerisms and has learned how to read him. Even when he fails to say something. The downturn of his lips and the telltale blush on his cheeks say more than a thousand words.

"How was England? I expected your arrival a week ago," Paul says as he sets aside a pile of documents, settling onto the armchair.

"Your Holiness," Cardinal Vicenza begins to speak, but his sentence trails off as he is hard-pressed to find the right words. Such a delicate matter deserves his utmost sensibility. "The situation is graver than we expected."

"Graver? In what way?" Paul questions; cocking an eyebrow in curiosity.

The brief reports did not expand on the King's actions, leaving him to wonder what has really happened. After his denial of the annulment, he believed King Niklaus would at least send his little mistress away and pretend to reconcile with his wife. That was Manuel's course of action, as he attempted to prove the necessity of an annulment.

"Much like all the other courtiers, I was astonished when His Grace convened the court to Windsor Castle and had a ceremony to make Lady Bennett Duchess of Kendal and March," Vicenza recalls; keeping his tone steady as he tries his best to relay all the important details. "At first I believed it to be a gesture to appease Lady Bennett, due to Your Holiness' refusal to grant the annulment."

"Why do I suspect that King Niklaus wished to do more than appease her?" Paul mutters with a snort.

Sovereigns like Niklaus are predictable in their unpredictability, so it is no surprise that he would have a concealed strategy. Paul, however, is surprised that the King has not tired of Lady Bennett. After all, there all countless rumors of him taking mistress after mistress; his carnal desires seemingly insatiable.

Is it possible that, by denying the annulment and the dispensation, Paul made Lady Bennett even more desirable to the King? One could never tell when it comes to spoiled men.

"I have spoken to Cardinal Beckington; a most unsettling conversation, Your Holiness," Cardinal Vicenza says with a frown and proceeds to narrate the aforementioned conversation. As nervous as he feels, he is able to paint an accurate picture of the grim situation they are about to face.

The Pope, for his part, does not show any type of emotion as Cardinal Vicenza speaks. Save for an occasional arched eyebrow, his face remains placid as if they were discussing hymns for tonight's mass.

"That is the reason why my return was delayed. A group of bishops and other scholars was gathered to discuss the matter and what can be done to solve it. Cardinal Beckington insisted to have my presence in these discussions."

"Well, what conclusion did this _group of scholars_ reach after so many discussions?" Paul questions with an uncharacteristic sneer, at last, allowing himself to display his skepticism. Scholars they may be, but he doubts they would know more about canon law than himself, the Pope.

Cardinal Vicenza feels the blood rushing to his head at an abnormal speed; his face becoming red and warm. He tries to conceal it, but it is a lost cause. Pope Paul has already noticed his discomfort and expects an explanation.

"Well, they have discovered some abnormalities in the documents," Cardinal Vicenza finally reveals. He is careful to avert the Pope's eyes, just so he can hide his own shame.

After all, the Pope entrusted him with the task of going to England to dissuade him from this mad idea. Not only did he fail to accomplish that task, but he now holds the information to render the Pope's judgment useless and

"Abnormalities? What kind of abnormalities?"

"No papal dispensation was given prior to the wedding of Queen Aurora and King Niklaus."

"What is the matter? We have thoroughly analyzed their family trees and no dispensation was asked in the first place," Paul counters, failing to understand why that would be an issue.

"No dispensation was asked because they assumed it was not required. However, King Niklaus is not entirely a vampire, he is a hybrid," Vicenza explains, barely able to keep himself from cringing as he sees the pallor of Pope Paul's skin. "And as part werewolf, a dispensation would be needed to make the marriage a valid one."

Paul releases a strangled breath that sounds quite undignified for a man of his station.

"Are you certain no such document was issued? I hardly believe Clement would have made such a crass error."

His predecessor, Pope Clement was a rather stern man when it came to the rulings of the Church. Surely he would not be careless.

"Yes, but Your Holiness, I believe this may be beneficial to your person and the Church," Vicenza states; hopeful that his suggestion can solve this most unpleasant situation.

"Beneficial? This woman comes from Madeleine's direct bloodline. You know what this could mean!" Paul cries out; already dreading the repercussions this damn match will bring.

No witch has ever sat on the throne after Queen Madeleine – the all-powerful witch queen- was deposed. All of the nobles, both vampires, and werewolves, have worked to ensure that a witch dynasty would never be again.

"Her children will have diluted blood, and may be hybrids such as King Niklaus," Vicenza suggests; knowing the possibility is quite likely.

The powerful witches and warlocks of the past chose to keep their bloodline intact by wedding others with magic or humans. There is no telling if a child from a witch and a hybrid will even possess magic.

"Besides," Vicenza continues as he senses the Pope to be considering his words. "You can use this oversight to consider the marriage invalid without causing anger from any of the parties. King Louis will not be able to protest, and King Niklaus will be so pleased he will even put more effort into defending our faith."

Save for a quiet, exhausted sigh, Paul remains silent. His mind is quite scattered; different thoughts and voices screaming at him as each of them tell him to take a different decision.

When he was chosen as Pope, Paul knew he would have to continue working to maintain the influence and wealth of Rome. As Vicenza said, the winds of reformation are strong and swift; threatening to destabilize them and everything they stand for. Should King Niklaus break from Rome, it will bring irreparable harm. And yet, the Church cannot be responsible for the dawn of a new magical dynasty. That will certainly anger Spain and France.

"Convene the other cardinals," he finally instructs to a red-faced Vicenza.

Pope Paul knows he will have to take counsel before passing judgment on this crucial matter. The dominance of the Church lies on his hands.

* * *

 _ **Stafford House, London**_

 _ **August 1466**_

It is a dreary day in London; the blue sky now covered by dark, dense clouds. Unlike Lady Sarah, her new companion, Bonnie does not mind. There is little she loves more than the scent of rain-soaked soil as it floats through the wind. As a witch, Bonnie yearns to be around nature, something difficult to find in London. Too many people, too much noise.

 _But this, this is perfect_ , Bonnie muses with a little smile; filled with delight. Surrounded by roses, daisies, so much color and so much green, Bonnie is right at home. In that moment, she does not feel like the little transplant from Hertfordshire, the countryside. She could learn to love London, even if the air was too dense and all eyes were on her.

"How is it that you are able to be more beautiful than the most perfect of roses?" The familiar voice asks, and Bonnie does not need to turn around to see who stands behind her. The manner in which her stomach is overtaken by flutters – little ripples of _excitement_ – is enough for Bonnie to know.

"Your Grace," Bonnie greets with a customary bow; displaying perfect composure even though she wants to leap into his arms like a child. "I never took you for a flatterer."

Her words are unexpected and he turns his head back with an amused chuckle. Oh, how he's missed her.

"But, my lady," Niklaus argues as he cuts the distance in between them with a few long strides. "Is it flatter if it is true?"

A small giggle escapes her lips, and Bonnie realizes it is no use attempting to pretend his charm does not affect her. As a matter of fact, pretending becomes almost impossible when Niklaus' hand touches her skin. It is a familiar gesture, and Bonnie wishes she could be immersed in his embrace.

"You are a true gentleman, sire," she murmurs; their eyes fixed on each other. Somehow, looking into the clear blue of his eyes, makes Bonnie feel vulnerable.

It is almost too much, and yet not enough, for she wants him so.

"Are you here for supper?" Bonnie asks in rushed words; already dreading his answer.

After weeks and weeks with nothing but brief visits – two months have passed since her investment ceremony- and rushed suppers, Bonnie is anxious to have him by her side. She is anxious to finally believe they can be properly together.

"Yes, but mostly, I am here to share rather important news."

The hairs on the back of Bonnie's neck stand up as soon as the words _important news_ slip out of his lips. As a residence away from court, Stafford House may be relatively secluded, but it is not impenetrable to gossip. And it seems like the ladies do love to gossip.

"News? Do tell me!" Bonnie demands in a childish manner; all of the tutoring she's received on manners suddenly forgotten. Her Lady Grandmother would be quite cross if she ever saw her addressing the King in such a way.

"I'll tell you if you finally concede me a kiss, a proper kiss. It is quite treasonous that I haven't kissed your beautiful lips yet," he murmurs as the pad of his thumb touches her lower lip.

Bonnie, not at all expecting him to be so forward, is disarmed. As a lady who is expected to be virtuous, and serving in Queen Charlotte's pious court, she has no experience with kissing other men. All she knows are quick pecks on Hal's closed lips when they played as little kids. But the King is not a little kid. He's in his twenties, a man grown who wants her as a woman.

Suddenly, Bonnie is regretting not obtaining a less traditional education from the less virtuous ladies in France.

"May I?" he asks with such a soft voice that Bonnie would have consented to anything he asked of her.

"I- I only want to please you, sire," Bonnie breathes out, feeling the sudden flood of blood rushing up to her chest until it spreads over her face as her mind becomes blank. She cannot think anymore, not when his breath keeps tickling her neck, not when his lips are just a whisper away from touching her skin.

"I would like for us to please each other," Niklaus replies as he moves his left hand to the small of her back. Their bodies are so close that he can sense her rapid heartbeat against his chest.

Before Bonnie can utter a word, he leans down and covers her lips with his. The sensation is different, unfamiliar and just _marvelous_. His clean scent and his warmth envelop her in a way Bonnie didn't even think was possible.

"Was that a proper kiss?" Bonnie asks just as their lips part; the words flowing out of her mouth as her mind becomes blank.

His response to her curiosity comes in the form of a loud guffaw; one that makes Bonnie want to kiss him again and again.

"Not as proper as I would like, love," he admits, sliding both hands to her waist. There is much more that he would love to do to her, with her, but not before they are wed. He will not allow any rumors questioning her honor. "But I suppose I will not have to wait for much longer."

Bonnie cocks her head to the side; an unspoken question written on her face. The tone of his words is different. He does not sound merely hopeful. This time he sounds confident and at ease, almost as if he was privy to something she is not.

"The Pope, in all his wisdom, has granted my annulment. We are to be married, my love."

Even though Bonnie has spent months and months waiting to hear those words, she can hardly believe them to be true. After so much time, she's come to think she would spend the rest of her life hidden away in Stafford House as a Duchess, and yearning for a fraction of his attention.

"I have already given instructions to start preparations for our wedding," he tells her with a smile, keeping a strong arm around her waist to make sure she will not collapse. "It will be the grandest of celebrations as I have promised you. The whole of England will love you."

Her whole body trembles; the weight of her future finally settling over her shoulders. Queen of England. Mother of the future King.

God help her.

* * *

 **A/N: Here's another chapter! Thank you all for your amazing reviews, they always put a big smile on my face and make me want to write more and more! Unlike the real Pope Clement, Pope Paul realized the Catholic Church would lose England and decided to grant the dispensation. So, Klaus and Bonnie are to marry, but of course,** court **is a treacherous place even to the Queen. I've tried to include some back history of the past witch dynasty, and it will come up again. I'd love to hear your opinion! Hope to update soon!**


	8. VIII - Matrimonium

_**Warwick Castle, Warwickshire, England**_

 _ **August 1466**_

Alaric Neville, best known as Earl of Warwick and the Kingmaker, crushes the piece of parchment until it is a crumpled up mess on the floor. As fury threatens to consume him, Alaric wishes he could be back in battle. With a sword in his hand and slaying his enemies, Warwick is invincible. The same could be said about him when it came to influencing important matters of the realm. Not anymore, it would seem. Months ago, the King would have written to him himself, asking for counsel on how to proceed. Now, he receives summoning letters as if he is a mere lord and hears critical news from Beckington. He should be at the forefront of these deals, not pushed aside.

After all, he is the reason why the crown lays upon Niklaus' head. Niklaus is King due to his money, his men, his influence. If it wasn't for him, the boy would have been killed under Margaret's orders, much like his father. Alaric is the one who saved him and his entire family from a life of despair. How dare him?

"Husband! Are you well?" Joanna barges into the room; her usual placid expression now replaced by one of shock. Alaric frowns in confusion, not understanding why she would ask him that.

It is only then that he notices the metal goblet on the floor; the bronze twisted beyond recognition and red wine staining the tapestry. It would seem that his anger did get the best of him. What a shame, Alaric thinks as he spares the item a glance, such a fine gift all destroyed.

"Yes, I am well," Alaric replies as he runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to regain his calm.

"Then what is the reason for this?" Joanna asks in a surprisingly soothing tone; moving beside him and placing both hands on his shoulders.

Their marriage may have been one of convenience at first, but after many years and two daughters, they have become more than mere husband and wife. They are companions, allies, and Joanna has come to know him better than she knows herself.

"I have received two letters," he starts to say; feeling slighted once more. "One requesting my presence in court, and another from Bishop Thomas, who relays me the rather critical news."

Sensing his mood and recognizing the familiar name, Joanna becomes still for a moment. Bishop Thomas is a clergyman who has enjoyed a great rise due to Alaric's influence. Alaric's faith in him has paid off many times over, as the bishop's gratitude has always prompted him to share crucial and sometimes confidential information. If it is a letter from Thomas, it must be quite an important matter.

"He tells me that while the Pope was hesitant to do so, he has granted the King a dispensation to marry his witch. Niklaus' marriage to Queen Aurora, or rather, Princess Aurora, is considered invalid."

Joanna is wise enough to know this is hardly pleasant news. While their family fortune is secure, dating back from hundreds of years, much of her husband's influence on the King is due to his ability to successfully negotiate treaties with reluctant allies. Alaric's deal with King Louis cemented his position as Kingmaker and the most important man in the realm, even before the King's siblings. The good relationship English boasted with France has only served to make him stronger.

King Niklaus' careless decision to discard Princess Aurora could unravel years of peace and stability, for it would most definitely anger Louis. England and France have always had such animosity; it would not take much to bring them to the brink of war once more. A witch on the throne- the same throne that once belonged to a princess of France would be too much for some to bear.

"I believed the Pope had denied the request for an annulment. Wasn't that what prompted that outrageous ceremony?" Joanna asks in confusion; referring to the gaudy event from months ago when the witch was elevated to unimaginable heights. "How can he grant it now?"

"The reasoning behind his decision matters not," Alaric mutters with a dismissive wave of a hand. "The consequences of it are what is important."

"War?" Joanna asks; feeling a shiver run down her spine. After so many lost lives, so much blood spilled, the thought of living through that again is terrifying.

"More than war, I am afraid. The decline of our family and our name."

Joanna covers her mouth to hide the sharp gasp of surprise. The Nevilles have been powerful for decades, perhaps centuries. How can one King erase that?

"You believe the situation to be that grave? You are the Kingmaker, husband."

"I am, but I cannot help but see that the King does not think clearly. He is smitten and thinking with his britches."

A King thinking with his britches is just a man, a man who is willing to throw caution to the wind and to forget what his position entails. As a warrior, Niklaus was composed and just the right amount of senseless. As a man, he is dangerous, and Alaric has presented himself as being fiercely opposed to the match.

"Smitten or not, the King is not a halfwit. He sits on the throne because of you, he certainly would not dare," Joanna hisses in indignation; the sharp features of her face becoming particularly harder, causing her to look much older. "He will come to his senses. In the meantime, do not attempt to go against him. Pretend to support him, even if it is not your true feelings."

Sitting in the armchair, Alaric read the words scrawled on the parchment once more and reaches for the cup of ale. He savors the beverage, wishing it could be a fine wine from Bordeaux instead. He also savors his wife's words, noting the tint of outrage in them and her obvious guile. Despite being raised to become the perfect lady who did not show interest in important matters, Joanna is as cunning as one can be and clever as any man.

"It would seem that you are right, wife," Alaric murmurs, swirling the liquid inside the cup before taking a healthy gulp.

Even as a master manipulator, the _Kingmaker_ , there is not much left for Alaric to do but hope this strategy is effective.

* * *

 _ **Westminster Palace, London, England**_

 _ **August 1466**_

Elijah, the Duke of Somerset, sighs in impatience before entering his brother's private study. Not surprisingly, he finds Niklaus there; his face buried in a pile of parchment and a glint in his eyes. The sight would be rather amusing if Elijah wasn't irritated.

"You are late, brother," Elijah states in a louder voice than required to make sure he would be noticed. "Most of the Lords have already arrived and they await you in the Hall and I find you here, enthralled by your books."

Elijah is aware his tone is less than ideal – perhaps even unacceptable – to address the King, but he finds Niklaus' behavior to be childish. Niklaus has been known to be quite undisciplined when it comes to the realm, preferring to entrust many of tedious, but important tasks to himself or their cousin. It is clear his brother favors the more pleasurable aspects of being King, and Elijah has never reprehended him for it.

However, the already fragile peace in the kingdom is about to be threatened due to Niklaus' own actions. It is only right that Niklaus finally begins to act like the ruler he is. And it should start with today's ceremony. Most of the Lords are worried about the fate of the country, and Elijah knows better than to ignore their concerns. They of all people should know how much of a threat a disgruntled noble can pose to the crown.

"If you must know, I was going through plans for renovations of the Queen's rooms. I shall only have perfection for my bride!" Klaus exclaims with a grin brighter than usual. "And lest I am mistaken, I happen to be the King. And as the King, I am never late."

Elijah cannot help but chuckle at his arrogant statement.

"It should do you well not to be too comfortable, brother. The Pope may have granted you the dispensation, but you still need to deal with the nobles," he warns, not to threaten, but to counsel. As much as it pleases him to see his brother overtaken by happiness, Elijah has decided it is best to keep his strategic mind.

Niklaus draws his shoulders in a tense posture, resembling a cat that is ready to attack. The eldest Mikaelson has no doubt a verbal attack would have ensued if it was not for the guard's announcement.

"Your Grace, the Earl of Warwick."

Alaric enters the room and pauses for the customary bow, much to both brother's surprise. After all, Alaric has decided to retire to Warwick Castle right after quietly protesting the creation of Bonnie's title.

Even though he was careful not to say an impolite word and further antagonize him, Klaus knows Alaric was less than happy to see him move forward with his relationship with Bonnie. Klaus has expected to see him today at the announcement, but this is unexpected.

"Cousin, I am glad to see you!" Elijah greets in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that has settled in the room. "We are headed to the Hall."

"Niklaus," Alaric starts to say but hesitates as he clears his throat. "Your Grace, I would like for us to have a brief conversation before your announcement."

"Oh?" Niklaus tilts his head, forcing himself not to show any emotion. In this case, it is best to remain impassive than to lose control.

"I see the error of my ways and I plead for your forgiveness. My behavior was unacceptable and it was never my intention to cause disrespect," Alaric whispers; humility seeping from his voice in a way that startles all of those in the room. The Earl of Warwick does not plead for forgiveness; he does not recognize the error of his ways.

Klaus crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one foot to another, not knowing how to react. Feuding with Warwick has nor been pleasant, as his cousin remains essential to him. Yet, this behavior is so odd that he is left motionless. There is only one small matter that persists in his mind. A fundamental matter and will dictate whether he will grant Warwick his pardon.

"I am certain you know the reason why I have summoned the nobles to court. The Pope granted me a dispensation and it is my intention to marry Lady Bonnie this year. Will you support me in my decision?"

As the most influential noble in court, Alaric's support would be crucial to getting the nobles in line. Not even Norfolk or Northumberland, two vain wretches, would dare to question him.

"I am more than pleased in supporting you," Alaric assures with a nod, wondering if his voice sounds as stilted to them as it is to him.

Perhaps it is because he does not believe this marriage to be for the good of the realm. It does not matter, though. Niklaus has his mind set on this and if the Pope has consented, no man will be able to convince him otherwise.

"Then I will be happy to have you return to court as one of my most esteemed advisors. On the condition that you show nothing but respect to the Duchess, who is to become your Queen," Klaus finally says after a drawn out silent moment. There was no other decision in his mind, Warwick was far too important to him and the realm, but Klaus needed him to understand his standing.

Despite his discreet nature, Elijah fails to conceal the obvious sigh of relief at seeing Niklaus and Alaric come to a resolution.

"Well, I must say it pleases me to no end to see you have reconciled," Elijah says with a smile when he realizes their eyes focused on him. "Our King has been somewhat distraught with your absence, if you ask me. Now, shall we go?"

Klaus wipes away a piece of lint on his right shoulder and stands with a straighter spine. Dressed in a royal blue waistcoat, he looks every bit of the conqueror King he is.

"Yes, we shall," Klaus utters with a subtle nod, attempting not to seem as anxious as he feels. Even though the Pope has blessed his union, he doubts the Lords will share the same opinion.

It hardly matters. With the Pope's consent, Klaus has God on his side. And if the nobles do not happen to be religious men, he has Warwick.

* * *

 _ **Westminster Hall, London, England**_

 _ **August, 1466**_

And so, in an ordinary Tuesday morning, King Niklaus announces his betrothal to Lady Bonnie Bennett, the Duchess of Kendal and March.

"My Lords, as some of you may be aware, my marriage to Princess Aurora of France has been declared invalid, and I find myself free to take another wife," Klaus states; his firm and loud voice filling the Hall with much ease. Despite previous anxiety, Klaus finds that he is quite comfortable when in a position of authority. Next to the throne, _his_ throne, he is nothing less than mighty.

Gathered around their King, but standing in a respectable distance, many of the Lords trade concerned glances. The news of the annulment was known to most of them, or at least to the Lords who could pay a bishop or a Cardinal with connections to Rome for information. However, it would seem that the identity of the King's future bride remains concealed.

Well, there have been some rumors around court ever since he granted the Lady Bonnie Bennett a rather important title, but most of the Lords regarded that as foolish gossip. Most likely, the King created the title to appease his mistress and to make her more palatable for another man to marry her after taking her honor.

It is one thing for the King to use his authority to concede lands and titles, but marriage to a witch is inconceivable. No, the King must marry a vampire Princess with impeccable royal lineage.

"I have decided to wed the Lady Bonnie Bennett, the Duchess of Kendal and March," he announces; his tone final and not allowing the Lords any room to question his decision.

As curious as it may be, Klaus notes that the ill-conceived looks of astonishment bring him a sense of glee. For quite a long time, these Lords believed him to be a puppet who would only do their bidding. Not anymore.

"But, Your Grace," the Earl of Ulster interjects; hesitance obvious on his pale face. The corners of his thin lips turn downward as he struggles to choose his words. "The Lady Bennett is a witch. No witch has ever sat on the throne of England in hundreds of years. It is not right!"

Klaus finds their indignation to be so pathetic that a sardonic laugh slips out of his lips before he can control it.

"Not right? I would believe my forthcoming union to be blessed, given that the Pope, who answers only to God, has consented to this marriage," Klaus responds; aware that no other noble would be able to disregard the validity of the betrothal.

After all, what good Christian would go against the Pope?

"Your Grace," Warwick assents as he drops to one knee in an obvious sign of support.

Klaus can hardly keep the smirk off his face when the other Lords soon follow.

"Thank you, my Lords," he finally utters as he sits on the throne; not a drop of humility in his tone.

The following day, right after morning mass, it is announced that the King is to marry the Duchess of Kendal and March. King Niklaus, sitting in the front pew, does little to hide his prideful expression. Why should he?

He's won.

* * *

 _ **St. George's Chapel, Windsor**_

 _ **October, 1466**_

It is one of the most resplendent royal weddings in English history; Klaus has made sure of that. Others may attempt to hide their true feelings from him, but he is not a simp. He knows many consider this match to be unsuitable, he knows the court gossip is vicious to Bonnie. That is the reason why he wishes to show all of England, perhaps all of Europe, that Bonnie is the most precious bride and she is no lesser than Aurora or any other Princess.

There will be no procession through the streets of London or a ceremony at Westminster Abbey like he has planned at first. Klaus can hardly wait months and months for preparations to have Bonnie as his wife. The newly built St. George's Chapel is chosen instead and meticulously embellished with the glittering ornaments commissioned for this special occasion.

Wearing a doublet made of dark blue silk brocade with gold thread embroidery, Klaus makes a striking bridegroom. A striking, but rather an anxious one; he notes with a frown when he sees the slight tremble in his hands. It is quite rather odd. After all, he is not an easily unnerved man and this is not his first time in this position. He should not be nervous, but this is Bonnie.

The simple thought of Bonnie, Klaus finds, is enough to make his heart race in a rather uncomfortable manner. And the sight of her makes him feel like a thirteen-year-old discovering love for the first time; silly and with clammy skin.

Klaus is hardly a wordsmith or a scholar; preferring swords over books, but in this moment he wishes he could know better words to describe how Bonnie looks when she steps out of the carriage.

Perfection is the only word that comes to mind. She is utter perfection.

The pale morning gleam bathes Bonnie; her light brown skin taking a golden tone. She is a vision in white silk, blue flowers, and pearls. Her curls - the same curls that have captivated him the first time he saw her in that damn tent - are unbound and so _lovely_ he has to stop his arms from reaching.

It would be proper to school his features remain inscrutable, just as he did on his first wedding. The pews are filled with officials from all of Europe – France is notably absent, as one could already expect – and all of the English nobility and courtiers. Showing emotion in such a public setting would be unbecoming and could even be construed as weakness. And yet, Klaus finds impossible to keep the grin off his face.

Bonnie will become his. Finally.

* * *

 _ **Windsor Castle, Berkshire, England**_

 _ **October, 1466**_

The sun has set; leaving the room to be illuminated by the milky white moon, a collection of bright stars scattered on the sky and the hissing flames from the fireplace.

Outside, the grand feast - so carefully prepared to celebrate this occasion - continues. Bonnie can hear the violins playing an energetic tune. The saltarello, perhaps? Her tutor has said to have a good ear for music, but she would always get -

"I do not know whether I should feel offended by your keen interest in whatever seems to be happening outside," Klaus finally speaks up, breaking the silence and startling her.

"Your Grace," Bonnie starts to say, rushing to apologize for any slight she may have caused. For a moment she wants to laugh at her inadequacy. It is her wedding night, and she may have aggrieved him.

He smiles; charming and warm. A smile meant to soothe her. It does, just a little. Months ago, the idea of marriage to a high ranking noble may have seemed like a nightmare, but not anymore. She wants to please him, to make him happy.

"I am your husband, love," he says, and Bonnie tries to ignore the tiny delighted jolt her heart gives at that realization. He is her husband, she is his wife. "I do not want us to concern with matters of ceremony and precedence whenever we are alone."

"Nik," she murmurs with some hesitation, almost as if she tastes the word on her lips. It is even sweeter than she has imagined, calling him by his name. A rush of boldness goes through her. "Perhaps it would be wise to call one of my ladies."

Even though the flower garland is long gone, Bonnie is still wearing her wedding gown; a long and rather impractical piece, fit to her body in such a way that she could not possibly remove by herself.

"No need for that," Klaus says, shaking his head as he cuts the distance that separates them. "I have told your ladies that I am to attend you."

His breath is warm against the skin of her neck, and her laugh mixes with a shiver of her own.

"Attend me? Are you to become one of my maids?" Bonnie wonders with a chuckle, keenly aware of their closeness.

"Oh, love. I'm afraid my talents lie elsewhere," Klaus laments with a grave voice as he pushes the curtain of her hair over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck. Dainty and alluring. "However, I _do_ wish to be the one to undress you."

Bonnie feels warmth spreading from her face to the tips of her toes; her heart racing to a nearly unbearable rhythm. It is an unfamiliar sensation, and she does not know how to react. Perhaps she could try and be a little bolder.

"Who am I to deny a King's wish?" she asks; her voice coming out much weaker than she intended to as her throat feels quite dry. Klaus, however, does not seem to mind.

His lips seem to have melded onto the skin of her neck as he undoes the lacings of the dress. For a split second, Bonnie wonders how he can be so skillful.

"Tonight, I am only your husband, not your king," he breathes out when he has the strength to pull himself away from her. "And I want to love my wife."

Bonnie sways, feeling faint from the warmth coming from the hissing fire and his words. She's known he was charming, but it has never affected her in such a way before. If it were not for his hands, she would be down on the floor.

He undoes the rest of the lacings and the dress falls to her feet in a puddle of white silk. Bonnie gasps in surprise, feeling the urge to cover herself. He stops her, though.

"You look exquisite, love," Klaus says, nosing her curls and breathing her scent in. Juniper and lavender. "Please, do not hide from me."

Bonnie nods; the fluttering inside her stomach even stronger now. She wants something, but she can't quite tell what it is. All that she knows is that she needs him close.

Their lips meet in a familiar motion, reminding Bonnie of that time in the gardens of Stafford House. It is not quite as awkward this time, as it seems that their bodies just know what to do without being guided by their minds. They kiss; warm and soft, and then intense in a way she did not know was possible. He tastes sweet, like her favorite Malmsey wine, and Bonnie wants to keep kissing him until they both grow dizzy and breathless.

Klaus pulls away with a pained sigh; the blue of his eyes now a thin ring circling his black, dilated pupils. Illuminated by the orange fire, he looks dangerous and nothing like a dashing vampire gentleman. He looks like a werewolf, and Bonnie is immediately drawn.

This is the side of himself that he keeps hidden from everyone, and yet he trusts her enough to reveal it to her. Somehow, it feels more intimate than a kiss, more intimate than standing next to him in nothing but a silk slip. They share a smile; both inebriated by sweet wine and each other.

"Come, my love. Let us make an heir to quash any threat against the crown."

* * *

 **A/N: There you have it, folks. They are finally married! This chapter is supposed to mark the end of the first part, which was mostly focused on their courtship. There will be plenty of Klonnie in the next part that will begin with the next chapter, but lots of political machinations. I even left some little clues. If you're a history fan, you probably already have an idea of what is going to happen, but I don't want to spoil it! I'm off to work on the next chapter, but I would love to hear what your opinion and your predictions for Klonnie in the future!**


	9. IX - Allies

_**Westminster Palace, London**_

 _ **November 1466**_

Life in English court is exhausting, far more than Bonnie could ever expect. Back in France, Queen Charlotte and her ladies lived in comfortable seclusion at Château d'Amboise. In the King's absence, there were no sycophantic or ambitious courtiers who did nothing but indulge in gossip all day long. They had to be respectful and mindful of their own standing but given some freedom.

Within a few weeks after the wedding, Bonnie realizes that no such liberties are allowed to the Queen of England.

The Palace becomes more crowded as the upper echelons of English society flocking to London to participate in the Christmastide celebrations. It is to be the first Christmas with Bonnie as the King's new wife, so preparations to have a grand feast have already begun. As Queen, Bonnie is expected to partake in some of these preparations. It would not be so taxing if not for the quite obnoxious peers that wish to curry favor at every possible time. As a result, Bonnie has taken to spending most of her available time in her rooms.

Located on the Palace's east wing, near the solarium, the newly renovated Queen's quarters are a thing of beauty; dazzling anyone who is privileged enough to be there. To match the new Queen's sunny disposition, the heavy and stifling tapestries have been removed. In their place, there are joyful paintings of the countryside and light curtains that allow the sunlight to illuminate the room. On the dark paneling, floral motifs were painted, along with an interlaced B and K.

It is far richer than Bonnie's accustomed, with colorful silk furnishings and details in bronze and gold, but it is a calm place.

For Lady Anne, one of the ladies in Bonnie's service, it is hardly a surprise to see their Queen sitting by the fireplace immersed in a book. Unlike Queen Aurora, who basked in having music and dancing in her quarters at all times, the new Queen is much more subdued and easy to please.

"Your Grace," Lady Anne calls out, careful not to disturb Bonnie, who merely lifts her head in acknowledgment. "The Marquess of Derby."

Ignoring any sense of protocol that exists to guide her every single action, Bonnie jumps from the armchair to greet her grandmother.

"Lady Grandmother!" she squeals in delight as she wraps her arms around Sheila, much like an over-excited child.

From afar, Bonnie's ladies-in-waiting smile at the scene. As an invisible part of the royal family's intimacy, they know how hard is it is to witness true affection. Usually, the Palace is filled with awkward conversations and people who wish to be anywhere else. That was the case of Queen Aurora and the King, who could never muster true love for one another.

"I was not told of your arrival! Have you had supper? I imagine the journey must have been quite tiring," Bonnie says as she studies Sheila's appearance, looking for signs of exhaustion.

"The grounds were a tad icy, but the journey was as pleasant as it could be," Sheila replies, relieved to finally be sheltered from the frigid winter cold. "I would love to have some ale."

"Anne, would you please have some bread and ale brought to my rooms? And some apples as well," Bonnie instructs Lady Anne, pulling her grandmother by the hand to guide her to one of the armchairs facing the lit fireplace. "I am so glad that you are here, Grandmother. Christmastide celebrations would not have been the same in your absence."

Sheila cups Bonnie's cheek; pure affection shining in her eyes. Perhaps this was not the life she has envisioned for Bonnie. The crown could crush the strongest of them, and Bonnie is her darling granddaughter, still naïve. However, the connection between Bonnie and the King is so strong that Sheila doubts any action would change this outcome. So, as the months pass, Sheila's anxiety is replaced by resignation. There is not much she can do other than place a protection spell on her and pray Bonnie does not meet the same fate as Queen Madeleine.

"And I would have been quite dismayed not to spend Christmas with you, child. Tell me, how do the preparations for the feast fare? I imagine most of the nobles will be in attendance."

Bonnie sighs; sensing the exhaustion seep into her bones at the mere mention of the feast and the illustrious guests. Or rather, one illustrious guest in particular.

"Why do you seem to be troubled?" Sheila asks, noticing the slight furrow in her brows.

"Duchess Esther insists that she should spend Christmas in Wiltshire. It is clear she does not care for me," Bonnie states in a rather dismayed tone.

Ever since she first met the Duchess, in her wedding feast, Bonnie has endeavored herself to gain Esther's trust. Not one of her attempts has succeeded, though.

"It is not surprising, I must say," Sheila affirms with a slight frown of concentration as she settles both hands on her lap. "Duchess Esther is a rather prideful woman and she was quite pleased with the thought of becoming the next Queen after King Richard's death. When they slaughtered her husband, she had to settle for being a mere King's mother, with no real power."

Bonnie remains silent as she absorbs her grandmother's words; her lips pressed together so tightly that they start to lose their rosy color.

"I imagine the Duchess was less than pleased to see another take the place she was to occupy, but Princess Aurora is a King's daughter with a better royal lineage than herself. So she did not object to the match. I am afraid she sees you as her inferior, my child," Sheila murmurs the last sentence; vexed at thought of these people thinking Bonnie to be their lesser. Bonnie, who carried the blood of Queen Madeleine in her veins.

"I do not doubt that, Grandmother," Bonnie comments; her voice wavering as she remembers the Duchess' callous words, chosen with great care with the intention to hurt her the most.

" _It is such a shame that Niklaus will not have children with an impeccable lineage," Duchess Esther said; a wicked grin upon her lips as she traced the rim of the goblet with two long fingers. "That is if you bear him children. Your mother has had quite the unfortunate history of childbearing. Only bore a girl before running away. Such a shame for my poor son to be disappointed in this manner."_

"I fear I have been somewhat negligent in your tutoring," Sheila laments, shaking her head in silent self-reprimand. In response, Bonnie looks up at her Grandmother, clear confusion in the way her brows draw together and her head cocks to the side.

As the daughter of a noble, Bonnie has been tutored in the subjects that a young lady should know and more, such as French, Spanish, history, and manners. What else is there for her to learn?

"You are the wife of a King now, child. Not a mere lady-in-waiting, and as such, you must learn the ways of the English court," Sheila explains, slightly amused with her granddaughter's innocence. A rather admirable trace of hers that Sheila must assist in destroying, unfortunately. No Queen who wants to survive could ever afford to be innocent. "You must not trust any of the nobles, for they see you as a means to an end, a way to obtain the King's favor."

Bonnie feels a sudden burst of energy run through the length of her spine as if she has stepped into a bathtub filled with frigid water. Her Lady Grandmother's words are not surprising, but they do make her feel uncomfortable, a little tense even. It is not difficult to realize most people around her think of her as nothing but an extension of Niklaus, but to know that she is so easily disposable to them sickens her.

"Then what am I to do, Grandmother? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, not knowing whom to trust."

"You make yourself stronger by having a son and creating alliances," Sheila answers with a tone that leaves no room for any further questioning.

After all, there is no question in her mind. As soon as Bonnie's destiny became tangled with the crown, Sheila took it upon herself to devise a plan that would ensure Bonnie's safety. Even with her powers as a witch, she would not be able to bend nature's rules so Bonnie could conceive a son. However, she can use the little influence she has left to establish powerful alliances.

"But we are witches. Who in England is to ally with us?" Bonnie wonders; lowering her voice to a harsh whisper when she notices Lady Anne and Lady Mary entering her private chambers, carrying a tray of food and refreshments.

"There are many beautiful kingdoms besides England, child," Sheila responds before sipping on the wine. Her lips curl into a mischievous smile, one that Bonnie is not quite familiar with. "That is a delightful wine. From Burgundy, I believe."

Bonnie offers Sheila a subtle nod of understanding, a gesture that only her Grandmother will recognize.

Burgundy.

* * *

 _ **Westminster Palace, London**_

 _ **December 1466**_

It is dark when the Duke of Norfolk bows his head and leaves the King's offices. With most of the privy councilors gone and only the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of Somerset lingering behind as they often do, the servants enter the room to light up the candles and stoke the flames in the fireplace.

"Why do I sense that you seem to be holding your tongue, cousin?" Niklaus comments, arching an eyebrow in curiosity; amused with Warwick's hesitance. This is certainly a moment he did not think it would come, as Warwick has never shielded away from presenting his opinion.

"Shall I speak freely?" Warwick asks; careful to keep his tone respectful.

"Yes, cousin. You shall," Klaus replies; his head inclined to the side in agreement. Feuding with Warwick has given him much grief, so Klaus is inclined to accept counsel from him as much as possible.

"Lord Wyatt has written me some troubling information. He is the Ambassador to France as you may remember, and from what he tells me, France may come to be our dangerous foe."

There is a brief pause on Klaus' part, just a few seconds before he chuckles and proceeds to fill his cup with small ale.

"Oh, it would seem that the French continue to be dramatic," Klaus finally says as he takes a generous gulp of his drink.

"They have taken offense of your treatment of Princess Aurora. It will not do us well to ignore that, Niklaus," Elijah, the ever-cautious man, reminds him, properly ignoring the scowl on his brother's face.

France may be filled with aristocrats with a high regard of themselves and their titles, but it still holds quite the military power and is a threat to England. Louis may not have immediately reacted to the annulment as they expected him to, but Elijah is no green boy. The King and his younger brother, the Duke of Orleans, must be furious for the slight inflicted upon them and will lash out.

"My treatment of Aurora was just and fair. In the eyes of God, she was never my wife, and I was still generous to offer her a title, lands, and an allowance," Klaus reminds them; blue eyes narrowing as he attempts not to lose his temper.

"It matters little now," Warwick dismisses with a sweep of the hand, not wishing for the subject to become lost in Niklaus' outrage. "Whatever was done in the past pales in comparison to the threat France poses. It is imperative to focus on rebuilding our relationship with the French to ensure they will not feel tempted to support Richard."

As mighty as they are, both Warwick and the King know they would not be as victorious if not for France and Louis. Most of Europe may not object to Niklaus' rule, but it is clear they see him as little more than a conqueror King who does not possess the divine right to rule.

"Then what do you suggest?" Elijah asks; anxious to come to a conclusion on this matter.

"Invite their officials, make them Perhaps du Bellay, he's always seemed fond of the English court."

Klaus nods; his attempt of looking focused failing miserably, much to Alaric's distaste.

"Very well, you do that," he says, draining the little wine left on his goblet. "I fear I must leave you, for I am needed somewhere else."

As a reply, both men nod their heads, following the protocol of standing up when Niklaus rises from his chair and walks out the room escorted by two guards.

Alaric snorts; allowing just a hint of derision and impatience to taint his features. He could hardly be blamed. Niklaus is the King of England and yet he continues to behave as if he was some peasant boy with no responsibilities.

"The King is in love, cousin," Elijah reminds Alaric; his voice amused and just a little reproachful. It would not bode well for any of them to have such an antagonistic disposition towards Niklaus' marriage. "It will be easier if you are amicable towards the Queen."

"She is not my Queen yet, Elijah. Perhaps I will be of a more amiable disposition when that comes to pass."

The young Duke can only shake his head, aware that none of his words will be enough to change Alaric's behavior. He can only hope Alaric is smart enough not to cause a rift.

* * *

 _ **Palace of Placentia, Greenwich**_

 _ **December 1466**_

"A man would go to war and forfeit his life just for this sight," Niklaus says; his voice as soft as the silk sheet that adorns Bonnie's bed and as sweet as the Malmsey wine she enjoys drinking. "I would certainly forfeit my crown for this."

A small chuckle slips from her lips as Bonnie attempts to conceal the shivers that run up her spine. She does not wish to seem too wanton, after all.

"I believe all of England would be quite cross with me if their King decided to give up his hard earned crown," Bonnie replies with a smile; wishing she could wrap him in an embrace, perhaps kiss his lips as she often does when they are alone.

After a week apart due to his commitments with Parliament at Westminster and her overseeing the preparations for Christmas celebrations, all Bonnie wants is to be close to him.

"It would be for a noble cause," he comments; ignoring the curious glances from the two ladies-in-waiting who are arranging the train of Bonnie's dress. "I would not have to sit through long Parliament sessions and listen to Norfolk's spiel anymore."

Bonnie chuckles at the dejected expression on his face. If one were to look at him, one would probably think he is a sad little boy instead of the King of England.

"I am sure these sessions are not as dreadful as you make them," she replies in a cajoling tone, excusing both Annie and Kitty from the room with a subtle look.

As soon as both ladies curtsy and close the door behind them, Klaus cuts the distance between himself and Bonnie. Without curious eyes, both of them are free to dispose of royal protocol.

"I have missed you," Niklaus sighs in stark relief as he breathes in her scent, allowing himself to be engulfed by her presence. For some reason, she smells even more exquisite than usual. She smells of honey, damp grass and something he cannot quite understand.

"I have missed you as well, husband," Bonnie confesses; her voice a small whisper that is barely audible through the loud hissing of the fire. "It was starting to become quite lonely without your presence."

"Well, I can't possibly have my wife feeling lonely during Christmas celebrations, can I?" Niklaus asks, tracing her lower lips, so plump and red, with the pad of his thumb. "That would make me a wretched husband."

"And you would miss the surprise I have for you," Bonnie pipes in, placing a timid kiss on his hand. Being the one to initiate a kiss or an embrace still makes her blush, but not enough to deter her.

"A surprise?" Klaus wonders with interest. As King, he is due to receive many Christmas gifts from Lords and nobles who wish to gain favor, but he has never considered the possibility of a gift from her. Perhaps the one genuine gift he is to receive. "Tell me," he whispers; lips pressed right against her ear, his voice both pleading and demanding.

"Shhh, just listen," Bonnie instructs, much to his confusion. The room is silent, not even the soft melody of the lute can be heard in her chambers.

Then his ears pick up the small sound. It's constant, rhythmic and familiar. It is hope and joy wrapped in a blanket of fear.

"Is that-" he begins to ask, not allowing himself to complete the question. Saying the words would make it real and he wants it to be real, but he has been in this position before. And it ended in painful memories, each and every time.

As if sensing his growing anxiety, Bonnie takes his hand in hers and places it on her stomach. There is no obvious swelling, but he can feel it. He can sense the growing life under his palm and it is strong and so alluring.

"The midwife confirmed it last week," Bonnie whispers as the answer to his unspoken question. "Are you happy?"

Niklaus laughs; delighted and overjoyed, feeling light enough to float a few inches off the floor.

"My love, you have made me the happiest of men in England," he assures her as he leans in to drop a multitude of kisses on her face. Heavens, he must resemble a young, silly boy, but he can hardly muster a care.

They will hold their own child come next autumn, the utmost sign that God has blessed their union, despite what many may believe.

"We must have your coronation at once," he mutters to himself; his mind now a mess of jumbled, elated thoughts with the tiniest hint of apprehension.

Would the child take in Bonnie's belly? Would it be able to grow from a tiny seed? Would it be born a healthy babe, lusty enough to give a loud cry during his christening? None of his seeds with Aurora were, and Klaus can still remember with aching precision how each and every single one of the children died. Experiencing the same with Bonnie is certain to break his heart.

 _There shall be none of that!_ A voice in the back of his head scolds him, and Klaus forces himself to focus on what is in front of him.

Bonnie carries his child and that is all that matters.

* * *

 _ **Westminster Palace, London**_

 _ **January 1466**_

"Aunt, it is a pleasure to see you," Alaric Neville, the Earl of Warwick, says in a respectful tone as he places a kiss on the back of her hand. "I was most disappointed that you could not be here for Christmastide celebrations."

Duchess Esther, the Dowager Duchess of Somerset and the King's mother, curls her thin lips in an ill attempt to conceal her amusement. Her absence during the celebrations has sparked a multitude of rumors in court.

"Well, I was quite anxious to return to Wiltshire and I knew the celebrations in court would not be _suitable_ ," Esther comments with a small sigh, not expanding on the subject. There is no need, for they all know the Duchess' opinion of the Queen.

"I am sure Wiltshire in December was quite lovely, aunt," Alaric comments before clearing his throat. "However, I have come to discuss a matter that is not quite as pleasant, I am afraid."

"Matters of war, perhaps?" Finn Mikaelson, the third son of the fallen Duke of Somerset and the newly made Duke of Clarence, questions as he walks past a pair of ladies to enter the sitting chambers.

Alaric merely shakes his head as he turns his attention to the Mikaelson man. Nursing a cup of small ale and donning refined red silk clothing, Finn looks every bit of the spoiled child he is.

"No, not matters of wars. The King concerns me with some of his decisions," Alaric says with a pursed lip. Admitting to his waning influence on Niklaus is nothing short of vexing. He is Kingmaker and should not be coming to Duchess Esther for counsel. For the better part of three years, he was the unofficial monarch, negotiating treaties with allies and ensuring England's fortunes.

Both the Duchess and her younger son snort in clear derision, hardly an attempt made to disguise their opinions.

"There is no need to explain, nephew, for the servants have a penchant for gossip," Duchess Esther says with an unladylike roll of eyes as she reaches for her metal goblet. "My son is an exemplary warrior and conqueror, but hardly a wise monarch."

While Alaric is inclined to agree with the sentiment, he is mindful to keep his expression neutral. There are eyes and ears everywhere, even in the privacy of the Duchess' chambers, and it would not be proper to speak ill of His Grace. His standing as the King's most trusted adviser may not be as solid as it was in the past, but he remains one of the most important nobles in court.

"It brings me great pain to say that it seems that the King wishes to please his wife at the expense of the realm."

"Niklaus is blinded by the need to make all of England love his witch," Finn comments; a scowl marring his handsome features.

He has never been one to question Niklaus' decisions, as he his brother and King has proven his competence many times over. However, it would seem that the witch of his has robbed him of reason. First, Niklaus weds her instead of taking her as a mistress- humiliating Aurora and souring England's good relations with France as a result- and now his brother places his witch wife above everything.

"As long as the witch carries his child, he will grant her every desire," Esther concludes, shaking her head in resignation and just a hint of testiness.

After years of being Queen- in- waiting, of preparing herself for this glorious role, Esther has to witness her son bestow the title upon a witch of all people! A witch with no royal blood running through her veins. Quite a dreadful state of affairs.

"Including a garish coronation? His plans will cost the country a small fortune and will further humiliate France," Alaric says, troubled by what this gaudy celebration would indicate to the other kingdoms.

Princess Aurora's coronation, celebrated a few months after her wedding, was a simple event, without excessive flourishes. England was still recovering from civil war, after all. However, Aurora was the daughter of a King, while Bonnie is a witch and the daughter of a simple Earl. Spending this amount of gold to flatter a witch will surely send the wrong message.

"My dear nephew, you seek my counsel, do you not?" Esther finally asks with a dainty sigh as she reaches for a small fig tart. Alaric gives a tense nod, hesitant to show any weakness. "It is my belief that you should not go against Niklaus in this particular wish of his. Let him please his witch and do not attempt to stop him. He is determined and you will only spur him on."

"Am I to witness this spectacle without uttering a single word?" Alaric wonders; his tone filled with indignation at the thought of becoming a mere observer and not much else.

"You are to concern yourself with more important matters, such as the remaining threat in our borders or a possible alliance with the Holy Roman Empire," Esther suggests, reminding Alaric of why the woman remains one of the most feared figures in court. "If the witch is anything like Aurora, there will be nothing to worry about, for there will be no child and Niklaus will soon be distracted by another one of his mistresses. God knows there are many of them to catch his attention."

"Cousin, it is best to plan for the future than concerning yourself with matters of no consequence," Finn advises before bringing the goblet to his lips. He gestures to one of the guards standing by the door. "Bring us more wine!"

If Alaric is surprised by their cavalier behavior in face of what he considers an important issue, he does not show it. Better to keep a close eye on this, for he knows his aunt is hardly a fool and certainly has a plan in mind.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Sorry guys, that took me way longer than I expected! I had an idea of what was supposed to happen in this chapter but it was not coming together, so I decided to end the chapter here. What did you think? Bonnie is pregnant and everyone is plotting! I already know what I want to happen in the next chapter, but I'm not sure if I'll write Bonnie's coronation. There will be plenty of Klonnie though.**_


	10. X - Coronation

**Palace of Westminster, London**

 **February 1467**

Obeying the King's wishes, Bonnie is crowned Queen consort of England on the second Tuesday of February in a sequence of ceremonies, each of them as splendid as it can be.

The feast that follows is sumptuous; the conclusion of an equally grand event. The great hall at Westminster is hung with rich crimson cloths of Arras and banners bearing the Queen's newly designed coat of arms.

With musicians and entertainment brought from courts of continental Europe and countless barrels of wine, it is a lively event. As chatter and laughter fill the hall, becoming more animated as the hours pass, it also becomes evident that not all courtiers are enjoying themselves.

Standing in a corner of the room, Warwick and his younger brother, Lord Montagu, speak in hushed whispers. Unlike one would expect on such a joyful occasion, both of them sport similar expressions of disapproval.

A witch sits on the throne of England, the replacement of a gracious and suitable Princess. They should be weeping for shame and instead, they must celebrate as if victory has been achieved on the battlefield.

"All of Europe must be mocking us right now. Our Queen is a witch with not one drop of royal blood in her veins," Lord Montagu mutters in displeasure; his grip on the cup so tight that his knuckles turn white.

"Be quiet, John!" Warwick instructs, looking around to check if any of the courtiers have heard John's statement.

Despite agreeing with the sentiment, Warwick is not as imprudent as his brother. Disparaging Bonnie during her coronation feast is a certain way to lose the King's favor.

"Play your part, brother, for this will not be for too long. Soon the King will take another mistress and she will lose his attention," Warwick assures his sibling with a confident tone. "In the meantime, have another cup of ale and pretend this is a merry occasion!"

Unbeknownst to the two brothers, one person was able to hear them. In any other day, the Dowager Marquess of Derby would be furious with such hateful words. Today, Sheila Bennett can do little more than smile into her goblet of mulled wine. While the Earl of Warwick and Lord Montagu are nursing their sore egos, her granddaughter is the one basking in victory.

Clad in a white silk gown embroidered with golden thread and trimmed with ermine, Bonnie is exuberant. She shines as bright as the coronet placed on her head. A difficult feat, considering the item in question is covered with precious gems and seems to glitter against candlelight, but her granddaughter manages it quite well.

"This is far more than I could ever expect!" Bonnie whispers as she leans into Niklaus, becoming faint from his scent and the day's excitement.

She barely got any sleep during her stay in the royal quarters of the Tower or the night before; riddled with anxiety and sickness from the baby.

"The Londoners were not able to see you and I wanted all of England to finally accept you as their new Queen," Niklaus states; his tone a mixture of adoration and gravity.

"All of England or just your Lady Mother?" Bonnie wonders with an arch of her right eyebrow; eyes slanting to the empty chair that his mother was supposed to occupy.

While Bonnie does not mind Duchess Esther's absence, it is obvious to her that Niklaus is upset by it. After all, his mother remains a dear figure to the nobles and her refusing to attend the coronation sends the wrong message to those at court.

"She has become bolder than I would have liked," he admits, hanging his head in slight embarrassment. His mother has always been a proud woman, a trait he admired when he was younger and has come to loathe.

"Do not trouble yourself over this, Nik. The day has been perfect!" Bonnie says with a smile, so happy that she forgets any propriety. They are in public, and she knows she should refer to him as her King. "I apologize, Your Grace. I did not intend any disrespect."

"Disrespect? You are my wife, Bonnie," Klaus soothes as he pulls her as close as possible; his lips grazing her earlobe, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. "The only issue I have stems from the fact that I wish to disrobe you and we are surrounded by too many people."

Seeing Bonnie like this, so beautiful, so perfect, has elicited a fire within him and he is ready to retire to his chambers with her.

"Husband!" she cries out; her entire body feeling warm as pink hue tints her neck and cheeks.

"I am the King, my love. I believe that gives me the right to say whatever I wish to say to my wife," he protests with a charming smile; the pads of his fingers tracing shapeless figures on the nape of her neck. "It also gives me the right to kiss my wife whenever I wish to kiss her."

He closes the distance between them, kissing her with as much tenderness as he can muster, not caring if half the court keeps their eyes on them.

"She hardly knows how to behave," Elena Neville, Earl of Warwick's eldest daughter, mutters into her cup, shaking her head in distaste. "Whispering and kissing the King."

"Lena!" Victoria, Elena's younger sister, squeaks; looking around to see if anyone else heard her sister's unkind words. She may not know much about life at court, but even she knows speaking ill of the Queen could be considered treason. "You mustn't say that! I think she is beautiful."

"She may be beautiful, but does not know how to behave like a Queen," Elena states as she turns to give the royal couple a not too subtle glare.

"How would you behave, Lena?" Victoria wonders; her attention also turning to the couple. Her eyes, however, are filled with curiosity instead of the reprimand her sister displays.

"I would be a dignified Queen, and would never allow people to see my true emotions," Elena answers in a harsh whisper; the confidence and arrogance she displays similar to her father's. "I would be a much better Queen."

Victoria does not answer; merely gives her a timid smile, not paying much mind to her sister's outlandish thoughts. After all, they are merely childish dreams.

* * *

 **Windsor Castle, Berkshire**

 **April 1467**

Two months pass, the snow brought by the bitterly cold winter melts as the roses begin to bloom once more, white replaced with lush green. Spring has come, stirring everything back to life.

"Dash!" Bonnie shrieks in delight as her trusty pup runs around the trees, relishing in his newfound freedom.

As silly as it may be, she understands the feeling. It has been far too long since she was unbound and free to do as she pleased.

This is what pleases her. Being outside, just on the outer edge of the woods; Thomas Lovell playing his new piece on the violin as her ladies teach one another the steps for a new dance.

"Another tart, Your Grace?" Annie Howard asks with a timid smile, pointing to the assortment of foods spread out on the blanket.

Her ladies were thoughtful to request that the cooks prepare all of the dishes she has been craving, from berry tarts to roasted lamb.

"I am afraid I have had too many already, Annie!" Bonnie answer, placing both hands on her belly. "Look at how fat I have gotten!"

"It is merely the little prince who grows bigger and stronger by the day!" Annie states in obvious excitement; red blush tinting her cheeks. "We will have to start making his clothes soon, do you not think, Your Grace?"

The smile curling Bonnie's lips is almost involuntary, much like the way she cradles her belly. Even if her son is small, there is no denying the life growing inside her. A stark relief, considering the awful history of Princess Aurora's childbearing failings.

"Child!"

The familiar voice captures Bonnie's attention, distracting her from the easy conversation with Annie. It is her Lady Grandmother, hurrying towards her.

"Lady Grandmother, it is a surprise to see you," Bonnie greets when Sheila is close enough, using a surprising amount of effort to keep from stuttering. She is a queen, is she not? Queens do not cower from their grandmothers.

"I was informed you were ill and the physician recommended that you retire from court," Sheila tells Bonnie; her arched left eyebrow displays such doubt she needs not to say a single word. "I take it you have recovered already, so you are to return to London with me?"

The anxiety that fills Bonnie at the thought of returning to court is disconcerting. Surely she should be stronger than this.

"You may leave me with my Grandmother," Bonnie instructs, moving to sit on the bench once they are alone. "I am not ill, Grandmother. And the baby is well. I just couldn't bear to stay at Westminster any longer. I fear that palace has become my gilded cage."

The confession slips out of her lips in an ashamed whisper as she averts her Lady Grandmother's gaze.

"Is that why you left court?"

"I cannot draw a breath without eliciting scandalized whispers. They curtsy, but I can sense the despise in their smiles!"

Bonnie feels like a fool. A little girl who was dressed in fine silks and propped up, but has not been told what to do. Should she smile be gracious and overlook the ill-conceived glares? Perhaps she should throw the weight of her tile and force them to comply?

"Oh, sweet Bonnie," Sheila breathes, wrapping her arms around Bonnie just like she used to do in the past. "Do not despair, my child."

"Westminster is filled with turmoil and I can only be at peace here in Windsor."

"Listen to me, Bonnie," Sheila urges, lifting her granddaughter's chin so she can look her in the eye. "I do not doubt you, but you should not have left court. It was unwise and dangerous to do so."

"Dangerous?" Bonnie questions, using the back of her hand to wipe a few tears. "These are times of peace and England loves Niklaus. I do not believe my safety to be at risk."

"War is not the only concern, for we have other matters that pose a threat to us."

"What do you not tell me, Grandmother?"

"Lord Warwick put your husband on the throne and for that, the King bears him a loyalty that leaves him blind to anything else."

That information does not as a surprise to Bonnie. The bond between Warwick and her husband seems to be unbreakable and much tighter than she appreciates.

"And Warwick does not care for me, much like Duchess Esther," Bonnie says in resignation, the nauseous sensation that has plagued her for the last months returning in keen force.

"Warwick does not like people he cannot control," Sheila reminds her in a matter of fact tone. "He wishes to consolidate his power and you are a threat to this, for you will not help his ambitions."

It is known that Warwick has most of England under his thumb as the owner of many lands and one of largest fortunes in the country. Him being threatened by her of all people does not make sense to Bonnie. Especially when all she has sought is his friendship. Bonnie believed that together they could support Niklaus hold the weight of the crown. What a fool she was. Warwick wishes to be the only one with that particular responsibility. The only one close to power.

"You believe he plots against me? To make me lose the King's favor?" Bonnie wonders. She may not know much about life in court, but she does know that a Queen without her husband's favor carries no influence.

"Oh, he is no fool. He knows not even God himself could turn that man against you. The King is a man in love. But he does want to weaken your position."

"And how do I protect myself from the likes of him and Duchess Esther?"

Sheila sighs, bringing a hand to chest. She hoped it would not have to come to this. While doubtful, she still held a glimmer of hope that Warwick would come to accept Bonnie as his Queen and respect her.

"Your first line of defense is this child," Sheila answers as she places a hand on her belly. "As long as he quickens inside of you, you are strong."

Bonnie smiles; her heart beating faster with fear. Fear that her child may not be strong enough to draw first breath and thrive. Fear that it may not be the lusty boy Niklaus wants and England needs.

"Can you tell what it is, Grandmother? If it is a boy I carry?" Bonnie asks with just a hint of pleading. Her Lady Grandmother knows a vast assortment of spells, after all. Surely one of them would be able to tell the sex of her child.

"No, the witches have banned these spells from being passed down years and years ago," Sheila answers with a shake of her head. "Too many dangers came with that knowledge."

Though disappointed, Bonnie can understand. The ability to read into what future would bring does sound dangerous.

"If my child is a healthy boy my position will be secure," Bonnie murmurs; cringing at how harsh the words sounds coming out of her lips.

 _This is what being a Queen means_ , she attempts to convince herself. Her womb and children are not only hers but the country's as well.

"You are beginning to think like a Queen, Bonnie and that is good," Sheila encourages with her usual nurturing smile. "Gone are the days you can act like Lady Bonnie Bennett. You are Queen of England now."

"But, Grandmother, what if my child is a baby girl? What then?"

"Then the Duke of Clarence remains as your husband's heir and Warwick will once again endeavor to regain all of his influence," Sheila answers in a flat, pragmatic tone.

While Bonnie was not directly responsible for the slip in Warwick's influence, she can understand the peril he poses.

"How do I prevent him from succeeding, even without a son?"

"By making you and your family stronger. The nobles would not dare to turn against you if they are linked to you."

"An alliance by marriage, then?"

"By marriage or treaty," Sheila pipes in, taking a short moment of levity to drink some wine and gather her thoughts. "Warwick wants the King to make peace with France. If he is triumphant in that quest, he will be mighty again. The second King of England."

Bonnie bites her lower lip to keep herself from snorting or even growling, two rather unladylike sounds. The boundless audacity of Warwick never ceases to surprise her.

"It would be better for all of us if the King allies with Burgundy instead," Sheila states in a way that could not be any more direct. The time for hints is behind them.

"Lady Grandmother, you confuse me with one of the privy councilors," Bonnie says; the words hardly audible due to her nervous laugh. Another habit of hers that does not belong to a Queen. "I do not interfere in matters of state."

Perhaps her Grandmother gives her and her position far more credit than it is due. As Queen consort, she is expected to provide the King at least an heir and a spare, not offer advice in foreign diplomacy.

"No, my child," Sheila whispers as she cups Bonnie's cheek. "You boast far more influence on the King than any noble sitting on the Privy Council. I reckon it is time to use that in your favor. Lord Warwick will not hesitate in using his against us."

* * *

 **Palace of Westminster, London**

 **June 1467**

The sun is already down when Bonnie crosses the not too long hallway that connects her chambers to the King's. Contrary to what custom dictates, she is not followed by any of her ladies-in-waiting and only wears a simple robe over her white shift.

If the guard posted at the King's door finds that situation unusual, he does not indicate so. He merely offers her a respectful bow and opens the door.

She smiles at the sight of her husband. Wearing a simple white cotton shirt and loose pants instead of his usual elaborate and rich attire, he looks like _her_ Niklaus.

Her Nik, the man who wakes her up with a flutter of kisses before slipping out of bed to start the day. Not Niklaus I, the man who wears the crown. Bonnie has always been careful to separate the two men and now she will blur the line.

"I begin to wonder whether I should feel insulted or not," Bonnie starts to say as she leans against the back of a chair. It would seem that her belly has expanded overnight, becoming quite cumbersome.

Klaus looks up in surprise; lips curling into a bright smile when he sees Bonnie. It has been a long and exhausting day, after all.

"I don't believe I have seen my husband and King today," she continues, walking towards him in slow steps. Only stops when they only distance separating them is her belly. "He did not come to my chambers for supper and left me in all my lonesome."

Still sitting down, Klaus wraps his arms around her waist and rests his head on her stomach. The sound of their child's heartbeat is steady enough to soothe him.

"You become more beautiful each day, wife," Klaus murmurs against the cotton the shift that covers her body. His voice is low and grave, but Bonnie is able to hear him in the silence of the room.

"You mistake fatter for beautiful, husband. I am almost the size of an auroch now!" she cries out with a chuckle, far past feeling depressed because of her ever-expanding body.

"A beautiful auroch you make, then," he concludes, laying a kiss on her belly; smiling when he feels the flutter against his lips.

"You are too much of a flatterer, Nik. And a liar as well."

Klaus places another kiss on her stomach and settles back on the uncomfortable oak chair.

"What is it that you wish besides throwing insults, my Queen?"

Bonnie smiles, already missing the closeness of their bodies.

"I have missed you, my love," she confesses, attempting to keep the whinging tone from her voice, yet failing miserably. In any other occasion, she would have been able to conceal her true emotions, but the child inside of her makes it impossible to do so. "You have not come to my bed in two days."

Though unusual for a King and Queen to share a bed with such frequency, Bonnie has always endeavored to build a rather intimate life with her husband and now she's come to miss it.

"I apologize, love. I do hope you know your bed is my favorite place in all of the realm," Klaus says, rubbing both eyes as a sign of exhaustion. A hybrid he may be, but even the bodies of supernatural creatures can only take so much. "Running the country is far more troubling than one could ever imagine."

Bonnie stays silent and wonders if he wants to admit that being King is harder than _he_ could ever imagine, even after years on the throne. He did assign most of the tedious tasks to Warwick, after all.

"Is there any issue?" Bonnie wonders; her voice just the right blend of curious innocence.

"No, not for now. The Marches are well protected, but Warwick believes we must turn our attention to this treaty," he replies, motioning to the pile of rolled out parchments that cover the table.

"A treaty?"

"A treaty with France. After what happened, Warwick fears it is the only way to appease Louis and keep him from supporting Margaret's claim."

For a moment, Bonnie wishes she could be ever so bold and shake Niklaus into recognizing Warwick's true motives. The man wants to become as powerful as he is! Perhaps even more. Without royal blood to support a claim for the throne, Bonnie has no doubt this is how Warwick hopes to rule. Through questionable alliances.

More influential than a privy councilor, her Lady Grandmother proclaimed. Perhaps this is the occasion to discover how much of an influence she really has.

"I know I am far from the most knowledgeable in foreign affairs, but have you considered forging an alliance with Charles of Burgundy?" Bonnie questions; both of her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

"Charles of Burgundy?" Niklaus repeats the name almost in confusion, for he clearly did not think of this possibility before. As a matter of fact, there was no other possibility, at least not where Warwick was concerned. His cousin is adamant that the only way to peace is by restoring relations with France.

"Well, Charles boasts a large fortune and enough men to aid us with an army should the need ever arise," Bonnie explains, trying not to sound too anxious or eager. "And he does share blood with my family, which would make him far less inclined to betray us. I cannot say the same for Louis."

While not prone to spending and boasting his own glories, Louis is a proud man, much like every man that has ever sat on the throne. The odds of him forgiving Niklaus for the offenses towards Aurora are certainly not in England's favor. Bonnie has no doubt the man is just biding his time.

"I did not know I had also married a strategic woman."

Bonnie bites her lower lip instead of responding, unsure whether Niklaus is impressed or amused by her advice.

"I merely wish for our safety, my love," she defends herself, beginning to question her own actions. "I do not mean to overstep."

Her Grandmother is a wise woman, but perhaps she was wrong in this matter. Perhaps her husband's blind loyalty to Warwick is even stronger than she has anticipated.

A sigh of relief rushes out of Bonnie's lips when he shakes his head and offers her a small smile.

"No, my little witch, your advice is sound and you could never overstep. As a matter of fact, I believe I enjoy this side of you."

And he really does. For all of the pomp and circumstance, being King tends to be lonely and frustrating. Having a wife willing to support him is quite a relief.

"Now that I have offered you most brilliant council, will you please come to bed?" She leans down so her lips are just grazing his left ear. "My confinement begins in a few days."

Realization dawns on him as he finally understands her unusual behavior. Well, not quite unusual, but for the most part, Bonnie is timid, especially when it comes to matters of their bedchambers. Maybe it is his child the cause for her boldness.

"Are you afraid, love?" Klaus murmurs the question as he pulls her into his lap, inhaling the sweet aroma of juniper on her skin.

"Yes," Bonnie admits; her warm breath on his neck eliciting goosebumps from him.

While Klaus is rather afraid, perhaps the most terrified he's ever been – what if she succumbs to childbirth like many other noble ladies?- he forces a confident expression on his face.

"It will not be long, and soon enough we will have our son," he promises; the words meant to pacify both of them.

"Will you be there when it happens?" Bonnie requests; the thought of being so far away from him terrifying to her. Childbirth may be a women's business, but she still wants him as close as possible. Especially if the worst comes to pass.

"I will. An uprising could break out and I would still be there with you and our son," Niklaus promises; blue eyes shining with honesty.

For the first time in the day, Bonnie can breathe easy. He will be there.

* * *

 **Palace of Westminster, London**

 **June 1467**

Though it is still early in the day, Niklaus already finds himself weary after having to perform countless tasks reserved to the monarch. Between the audiences granted to the Lords regarding the issues in their lands and the rolled up parchments that await his signature, it is a wonder how he still possesses his wits.

"It is far too early for you to be looking this tired, brother!" Elijah quips as he enters the study, chuckling when he receives a rather dangerous glare from Niklaus. "What is it?"

Niklaus immediately thinks of the reason for his less than cheerful disposition. Just a few days ago, Bonnie officially retired from court and left for Greenwich to begin her confinement.

Elijah laughs again; his suspicion confirmed.

"Have you come here to mock me, Elijah?" Klaus growls out in irritation, moving to pour small ale into his cup.

"Peace, brother," he says, raising both hands. His grin is still obvious, which only serves to annoy Klaus even more. "Your lack of confidence in me is astounding. I merely came to ask whether you would like to go on a hunt with us."

Klaus sips his beverage, considering the offer. Without Bonnie there, most of his days tended to be quite tedious. Perhaps a day of hunting would be what he needs to distract himself from her absence.

"Elijah!" Warwick cries out as he comes through the door. "Surely you are not attempting to make Niklaus shirk his duties?"

"Speaking of duties, there is a matter I have been meaning to discuss with you," Klaus states; his tone serious. "My sister Freya's marriage."

A pleased smirk curls Warwick's lips before he can even formulate a verbal response. What could be more advantageous to the treaty than marrying Niklaus' own sister to the third in line to the throne of France?

"Yes, I believe the Duke of Orleans will make a rather suitable match as the Enfant is still young. Freya will become a royal duchess."

"No, not that fool Tristan. I have realized I was being far too hasty in not acknowledging some other players in the game," Niklaus explains, satisfied with the stunned expression on his face. Finally, he is the one dealing the surprise card. "Write a letter to the ambassadors from Burgundy. I think Charles will make a very suitable match for my sister."

Niklaus' order is clear, but it doesn't quite register in Warwick's mind. _The King must be mad!_

"Niklaus, you cannot embarrass France in such manner!" Warwick exclaims; his voice holding such an unusual nervous tone that both brothers frown.

"Embarrass France or embarrass you?" Niklaus questions. "You are my dear cousin, but not think to abuse the favor I show you."

In just a few uttered words, the room becomes shrouded in an uncomfortable tension. Niklaus arches an eyebrow as he stares at his cousin, almost daring him to explain himself or to deny the unspoken accusation. Warwick, ever the politician, does neither. He is already familiar with Niklaus' raging moods and knows not to respond. He merely swallows the words he would like to say and bows his head.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he says, careful not to allow the anger to taint his voice. "I will see to that."

"Please do, cousin."

* * *

 **Warwick Castle, Warwickshire**

 **June 1467**

Not even the hours of journey from London to Warwick Castle are enough to subdue his rage.

"Damn him!" Alaric curses as he slams the oak door with as much force as his strength allows. "Damn him and that woman!"

"Husband!" Joanna exclaims as she hurries into the room; eyes wide with shock at seeing her husband in such spirits. This behavior is just not characteristic of him. "What is it?"

"I had to take leave from court after he dismissed my nephew as Bishop and gave Derby's brother the command of the fleet," Warwick says; hands still trembling. Blood rushes through his veins in such a furious way he can almost hear it. "The second son of a lower noble now commands the fleet. All of that after humiliating me in reneging on the treaty with France!"

Coming to stand next to Warwick, Joanna places a comforting hand on his shoulders.

"It is her handiwork, I'm sure!" Joanna huffs in indignation. How can an upstart presume to know about matters of the realm? At first glance, Joanna thought her to be an unsuitable, and yet harmless bride. Oh, how mistaken she was. "She is not the same mousey, wide-eyed girl. She grows bolder by the day."

"All the influence of that Grandmother of her, I have no doubt," Warwick spits out. "Sheila is as cunning as a fox. She is the one who convinced the late King to give her husband an Earldom and now she wishes to see her family restored to power!"

Joanna inhales sharply, bringing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heartbeat. The Queen may be a witch, but she is a consort. The little power she yields comes from the King. Having Lords from witch families sit on the Privy Council could be catastrophic.

"What can you do to halt this madness, husband?"

"As of right now, I can only make sure to keep my allies close and pray that she doesn't have a healthy son. I fear her influence will be too much to bear if that happens."

Joanna nods as she attempts to keep a neutral expression on her face. Surely a young, naïve witch could not hurt the Kingmaker himself.

* * *

 **Palace of Placentia, Greenwich**

 **July 1467**

Even though Bonnie was excited to be excused from court life and retire to Greenwich with her ladies-in-waiting and her Lady Grandmother, she has come to realize just how utterly boring confinement is.

The midwives and physicians follow her every move and insist on stripping her of any little joy she may have. Too much excitement for the baby may harm him, they allege. She does not mind when they prohibit her from dancing ever a slow Pavane, as her belly has become cumbersome. Neither does she mind when they instruct the musician to only play soothing tunes. It is only when the Doctor Linacre insists on locking all of the windows to keep the sunlight from entering that Bonnie finally loses her patience.

Sheila has to intervene when Bonnie refuses to listen to the physician, and only then a compromise is reached.

"Perhaps your cousin Kitty is better suited with the son of the Earl of Ormond," Sheila suggests, moving the piece that is meant to represent her granddaughter to the side.

Without mindless pleasures to keep them occupied, they have turned to an important matter that should be resolved.

"I trust your judgment, Grandmother," Bonnie assures as she rubs circles on her belly, attempting to calm her overexcited babe. "You remain the most knowledgeable in matchmaking and honestly, I have trouble in telling Kitty and Maggie apart from each other!"

"Oh, do not fret, for you have too many cousins and they are all alike!"

"Yes, most of them with dark hair and ahh!" Bonnie cries out and clutches her belly when a sharp pain seizes her body.

The ladies tasked with attending her drop their needlework and rush to their Queen's side.

"My lady?" Annie asks; her face pale and contorted into a terrified expression.

"Do not just stand there!" Sheila instructs as soon as the mist of surprise dissipates. "Fetch the midwife and the physician! Our little prince is about to be born!"

"Send for the King, too!" Bonnie orders with a hoarse groan, allowing her Lady Grandmother to lead her to bed.

"Yes, Your Grace!" Annie says as she hurries out of the chambers.

Stuck in a daze of pain, Bonnie can hardly tell how much time has passed. As a matter of fact, Bonnie finds that her mind has lost the ability to function. Every muscle in her body burns as if she had stepped into a raging fire and she's exhausted.

"The baby is almost here, Your Grace!" The midwife assures her as she looks up for a moment. "You just need to push!"

"Ahhh!" Bonnie releases a howl of pain as she focuses all her strength of pushing the baby out.

A lusty cry fills the quiet room, and Bonnie slumps back onto the mattress; drained of all energy.

"I want to hold my son," she murmurs to nobody in particular; a mist of confusion and fatigue settling over her.

Closed green eyes flutter open for a brief moment to glance at the ladies all huddled around the midwife. Brief, but long enough for Bonnie to see the frown on Annie's face.

Surely her son is alive? Or did her ears deceive her when she heard his crying, a clear sign of life?

"Grandmother, what is happening? Is there something wrong with my baby?" Bonnie questions; voice raspy and desperate as she tries to push her body into a sitting position.

"There is nothing wrong, my child," Sheila promises her; moving to take the pink bundle into her arms. "You have a healthy, baby girl."

* * *

 **A/N: And it's a baby girl! I bet many of you are not surprised by this turn of events and those who are, please don't be mad! Bonnie is an anointed Queen now after her coronation and Warwick is seething. I have already started planting a little seed for what's to come, did anyone catch it? As for those who were confused about Bonnie's lineage. Yes, she's descended from Queen Madeleine, but she is not a princess. After the Witch Queen was deposed, her descendants were no longer considered royal, and that is why they don't think she has royal blood. I hope that clears up any confusion! Next chapter we'll see how Klaus reacts to his baby girl!**


	11. XI - Madeleine

_**Palace of Placentia, Greenwich**_

 _ **July 1467**_

It is said that a true King should never allow others to see his feelings. A strong King represents a strong country and for that reason, no subject is to ever see just how fragile he can be. Though not raised to be a King, Niklaus has always prided himself on being able to masquerade his feelings. There was something rather powerful in others not being able to read him, after all.

This occasion, however, is unlike any other. For the first time in his existence, Klaus cannot muster a care for the opinion of others. As he lays his eyes on his child for the first time, Klaus can only focus on the babe's tiny hands and the hearty cry that comes out of him. For a fraction of a second, he thinks of the other times he's stepped into these same birthing chambers to meet a child and the fear that has been gripping his for the better part of the day eases just a little. Not one of his children with Aurora sounded so strong, so full of life.

"My love," Klaus murmurs as he takes hesitant steps towards Bonnie. Skin glistening from the sweat, brown curls tied in an elaborate braid and green eyes that manage to glitter despite her obvious exhaustion, Bonnie looks beautiful and much too precious for him.

Despite wanting to recite thousands of loving words and pretty poems, Klaus finds himself speechless. Just as speechless as he was when he first saw her in that dimly lit tent in St. Albans, little more than a young witch with a generous heart. Just as speechless as he was when he saw her walk down the aisle of Westminster Abbey in her coronation robes, a proper Queen then. Now she is the mother of his child, and Klaus cannot think of anything more perfect than her image.

"She is a girl, Nik," Bonnie whispers; eyes filled with unshed tears glancing up at him. Though she already loves her daughter with more strength she thought possible, Bonnie is not a fool. Nik is a King and kings need sons to ensure the continuity of the line. They need sons to ensure peace in England, and she has failed in that. "I am sorry."

One would believe him to be disappointed for not getting his much-awaited son, and yet, unexpectedly, there is not an ounce of discontent in him. After having his heart broken time and time again, after experiencing the bitter and salty taste of grief, Klaus wonders if he can even be disappointed right now. His child lives and breathes, Bonnie remains healthy. The only emotions running through him are relief and pure joy.

"Leave us," he commands with a gentler tone than his usual authoritative one, but the Queens' ladies are quick to obey; filing out of the room in silence after the customary bow. "You continue to make the happiest of men, my Queen."

"Do you mean that? I am not a fool, I know you wished to have a son, a Mikaelson prince," Bonnie says as he moves to sit next to her on the grand bed that was specially built for her confinement. "I know her birth is a disappointment to you. I guess the feasts and jousts will have to be canceled."

"Look at me, love," he pleads as he cups her cheek; the pads of his fingers drying the wet trail left by her tears. "She is from both of us and we will love her very well. No child of mine will ever be a disappointment. Especially one that comes from you. I have no doubt we will have sons, but I am quite happy to have her at the moment."

Not at all expecting these words, Bonnie collapses against his body as the exhaustion and relief become too much to bear. Perhaps the utter anticipation of having to tell Niklaus of her perceived failure was the only thing keeping her awake and now she will finally be able to rest.

"The Lords will say that this is a sign from God, that He has decided not to bless our marriage," Bonnie says against the light cotton material of his shirt; her voice muffled and almost indecipherable.

Even though she has attempted to ignore court gossip and go about her business, it is impossible not to take notice of the mean-spirited little conversations they like to engage in. She knows they still think her to be unsuitable for the position of Queen consort, and a son would be her own small victory against them. The little witch without a drop of royal blood, daughter of an Earl, mother of the next King of England. What could be more glorious to her and disconcerting to them?

"A Queen must not concern herself with the opinion of her subjects, love," Klaus advises, raising her chin with the tips of his fingers and bringing their lips together. It is a brief, yet sweet kiss. A kiss meant to say all the words he is in incapable of threading together; meant to assure her of her position. "Now, let me see her properly."

With a hesitancy familiar to all new mothers, Bonnie lifts the babe from the padded basket and places her on her husband's arms. After being washed with rose petals and jasmine scented water by the midwife and swaddled in a soft cloth, the baby seems to be quite content.

"Oh, she is beautiful!" Klaus marvels as he adjusts her tiny body in his arms. Her dark blue eyes blink open, staring at him in such a way he wonders if she can read his mind. "We will love you very well. You shall be the most cherished Princess in all Christendom."

As the second son and third child of the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, much of Klaus' childhood was spent in the company of his Lady Joan, his nursemaid, and his brother Elijah. His parents were but strangers, unfamiliar people who liked to visit their Wiltshire home during Christmas. He had a Lord and a Lady to obey and please instead of a mother and a father. His daughter will _not_ suffer from the same faith.

"And for that, my husband, you make me the happiest Queen of all Christendom," Bonnie beams at him before resting her head on his shoulder; eyes fluttering shut as physical exertion finally takes a toll on her body.

"Rest easy, love," he murmurs as he lays a kiss on the crown of her head. The baby grunts as if demanding his attention, and Klaus is immediately wonderstruck. How could one bear such perfection? "Now, my little Princess…"

"Madeleine. Princess Madeleine," Bonnie mumbles with a sigh before slipping into a deep slumber.

England will, at last, have another Madeleine in the royal family.

* * *

 _ **Palace of Westminster, London**_

 _ **September 1467**_

The wedding of Anne Bennett, the youngest of the Queen's cousins, is celebrated with more pomp than one would expect, resulting in a ripple of astonishment throughout court.

After all, as the ten-year-old daughter of a newly made baron, a betrothal to the son of a local knight was to be expected. A marriage to Henry Stafford- the young Duke of Buckingham and part of a wealthy werewolf family- however, is cause for indignation among the nobility.

"I have to confess, I am rather surprised that so many nobles have attended the ceremony. I would have expected them to feign indisposition!" Sheila comments with a smile; a goblet of wine in her hand as she glances around the room.

Westminster Hall, decorated with Arras gold cloth and silver chandeliers, is filled with familiar faces and in Sheila's opinion, none of them look very happy.

Their subdued behavior is hardly surprising to her, for she is aware of their disapproval when it comes to the betrothal. To them, a werewolf high noble, son of a prominent Lancastrian lord, should not be marrying the daughter of an Earl's second son. To Sheila, their feelings are irrelevant and somewhat amusing. After years of shunning, they will all have to witness the rise of Bennetts.

"Oh, I have no doubt they have attended just so they can continue to throw glances of pity at me," Bonnie retorts in good spirits, moving to break a piece off the rye bread.

Seven weeks after Madeleine's birth, Bonnie finds herself devoid of any feelings of disappointment regarding her daughter's sex. The babe continues to grow and thrive, as healthy as she can be. If others want to see her with dismay, let them.

"I reckon some of them are quite surprised the King did not show any hints of disappointment after the birth of the Princess."

When it was announced that Queen Bonnie delivered a daughter instead of the Prince of Wales, many of the courtiers expected the King to skulk around in shame, to cancel all the celebrations and have a subdued christening ceremony. Instead, the King surprised them all by ordering the most lavish christening and displaying his joy towards his new seed.

"Perhaps they are wondering as to how our little Annie can be married to the Duke of Buckingham. I must say, Grandmother, you astound me with your abilities sometimes. Even I did not expect you to make such quick work!" Bonnie exclaims; her tone genuine and a little curious.

After all, her Lady Grandmother managed a feat that would be considered impossible in less than six weeks.

"Well, if you must know…" Sheila hesitates and averts her eyes, a gesture that heightens Bonnie's interest. Her Grandmother is usually very open when it comes to her strategies, even anxious to show her the ways to survive as Queen.

"You scare me, Grandmother."

Sheila sighs and leads Bonnie to a more secluded corner of the Hall, hoping to avoid curious eyes and ears. Too many of the courtiers attending the feast already possess supernatural hearing, so it is only wise to attempt to be discreet.

"My power may be dormant, but it is still within me," Sheila says; her mind becoming absent for a moment, going to another place in a different time. "And sometimes, I can feel it. My ancestors called it the _sight_. It told me I should arrange this match as fast as possible."

"The sight?" Bonnie asks with a frown. Her knowledge of magic is limited to healing and protection spells, and realizing her utter ignorance when it comes to her magical abilities is upsetting. Vampires and werewolves have killed just to try to gain this power and here she is, neglecting it. "How can you tell?"

"It is difficult to explain, it is akin to a whisper blowing in the wind, perhaps."

"May we never live in peace and contentment?" Bonnie bemoans, hardly caring that her behavior and words are not befitting of her position.

"You are Queen of England, a country that remains divided," Sheila reminds her in a harsh whisper and looks around to check if anyone has heard her granddaughter's careless words. "You will not be able to live in peace anymore, Bonnie."

Bonnie sighs before taking a sip of the mulled wine, feeling the wine become a tad bitter on her tongue. Her Lady Grandmother's words do not surprise her, but they still have the ability to stir something within her. A sensation of sorrow, perhaps?

"Your Grace, your Grace! I am sorry to barge in such a manner, but you must see this!" A young squire exclaims as he runs into the hall, breaking off the lively music and Bonnie's thoughts. The whole court halts their actions to focus on the red-faced man and his expression of pure astonishment.

In hurried, yet hesitant steps, Bonnie follows Niklaus as he walks towards the courtyard. What they find is something nobody could ever expect to see again.

The old King Richard. Wearing simple clothes that in no way reflect his past station and devoid of any jewelry, Richard bears an unhealthy pallor and looks emaciated. His dark blonde hair is dirty and his eyes, vacant. Bonnie finally understands why one would call him witless.

"Poor Richard," Sheila whispers. Despite her current loyalty to King Niklaus and the vampire cause, she still holds some endearment to the King who sought to help her family.

"Your Grace, I bring this traitor to you!" Warwick bellows before dismounting his horse. "He believed he could hide in Scotland, but I found him!"

The expression of satisfaction on his face is so clear that Bonnie has to grit her teeth to keep herself from displaying her displeasure. As much as she has attempted to build a sort of friendship with Warwick, Bonnie knows any step he takes is calculated with ultimate precision. The man has been absent from court for the past weeks, probably licking his wounds from being humiliated with the Burgundian alliance. What would have enticed him to put such a blatant display of loyalty?

Her husband, however, does not seem to have such reservations, for he rushes forward to envelop the man in a hug.

"And you have brought him to face justice for what he and his wife have done to Father!" Niklaus exclaims as he pats Warwick on the shoulder, a clear sign of approval. He then turns to the nobles who surround them. "He shall be taken to the Tower! Let it be known that I will offer him mercy and respect. And you, cousin! You must celebrate with me! Mulberry wine, perhaps?"

Warwick smiles as he sees the loyalty shining in Niklaus' eyes again. What could be the best moment to introduce the subject in his mind? At least now he will have the King's ear and not even his witch will be able to set him astray.

"Actually, I would like to speak to you first, if that is possible."

"Of course, cousin. I do not think I would be able to deny you anything!"

And that is what Bonnie fears the most, Niklaus' blind loyalty.

* * *

The capture of old King Richard has transformed a rather subdued wedding feast into a wild revel after the vampire loyalists got a hold of another barrel of wine. Not excited to celebrate Warwick's great achievement, the Queen retires to her rooms early. Even though her young ladies seem to be dismayed to leave all the excitement and gossip of the feast, being around lecherous drunks seems rather improper to Bonnie.

Besides, being with her daughter in the comfort of her richly furnished chambers is a much more enticing activity. At seven weeks, Madeleine is as pretty as a cherub with her chubby cheeks and dark brown curls.

"There you are, my disappearing witch," Klaus says, feet rooted on the entrance of her inner chambers as he admires the lovely scene before him.

"Have you missed _me_ , love?" Bonnie asks with a crooked smile; a shade of pink spreading across her face as she realizes the boldness that tints her words.

"I see you have found a better companion for tonight," he gestures to their daughter, who now slumbers peacefully on Bonnie's chest. "May I join you?"

"Oh, husband. Have you tired from Aumerle's incessant boasts about his latest hunt?"

The laughter that fills the room; unexpected and joyful, causes her lips to curl in a smile and Bonnie to feel as warm as the mulled wine she has been sipping during the feast. Even after months after the wedding, part of her is amazed that they still are husband and wife, trusted confidants and not merely King and Queen.

"I happen to believe you two are far better than listening to Aumerle and Wessex," Niklaus says as he begins to disrobe; each elaborate piece of clothing thrown to the floor until he was only in breeches and a simple white shirt.

"Are you to spend the night here? I have missed you, my King."

Being away from Niklaus for months due to confinement was far more painful than Bonnie ever expected, and she just longs to be near him once more. They may not be able to be together as husband and wife tonight, but his mere presence is enough for now. A suspicious side of her mind wonders if he has taken any mistresses at the time; a thought Bonnie is quick to snuff it out before it can grow any further. She will not allow baseless doubts to poison her mind.

"I am, love," Niklaus answers as he pushes the inordinate amount of covers to the side. "I believe your presence is the only thing to soothe my mind at this moment."

Even while distracted by the rise and fall of Madeleine's chest and her fluttering heartbeat against her own skin, Bonnie cannot help notice something amiss in him.

"What happens in that mind of yours, husband?" Bonnie wonders as she turns to look at Niklaus in the eye, attempting to understand what ails him.

"Nothing that would interest you, love. I do not wish to ruin this beautiful night with my senseless musings," Klaus says with a wave of a hand, hoping it will settle the issue.

At the moment, his mind is little more than illogical thoughts and doubts he dares not share with anyone. Hardly a subject of polite conversation.

"I do happen to love your senseless musings, Nik," Bonnie murmurs, moving closer to him until her head rests on his shoulder until his scent is all she can sense. "Are you concerned with King Richard in the Tower?"

While the loyalists have celebrated the capture with a fiery passion, believing it to signify the quashing of any hope to a werewolf restoration, Bonnie knows better. Even her naïve mind knows that having Richard locked up in the Tower can only be a temporary strategy.

"For so long, Richard was a shadow in my reign and I have believed that once I had him under my control, I would be undoubted."

"But you are, Nik!" Bonnie assures in a loud whisper; a hand splayed on his face to make sure their eyes meet. "You are an anointed King, my love. None can doubt the legitimacy of your reign."

"And yet, I still wonder when they will attack. That evil bitch and her son," he mumbles the last words; a golden ring bleeding into the blue of his eyes. The anger that swirls within him is quiet yet palpable.

"Warwick was able to capture Richard, I've no doubt he will get Margaret and her son soon enough," Bonnie comments; able to swallow her pride for a moment. Anything to give him peace of mind. "Are you to give him a brand new title as a reward?"

"As a matter of fact, there is something else Warwick has asked of me. His girls for my brothers," Niklaus says in a lighter tone as if the matter is of no consequence. Bonnie, however, has a hard time concealing her astonishment.

"He wishes to marry Elena and Victoria to Finn and Kol?"

Even the possibility sounds baffling as soon as the words leave her lips. Elena and Victoria as royal duchesses, linked to the royal family. Bonnie may not be the greatest strategist when it comes to the rather treacherous English court, but she is wise enough to understand the dangers such union poses. Surely he must see it too.

"Yes, and I am inclined to grant his request, my love," he answers; his voice already taking on a cajoling tone.

Still asleep, Madeleine lets out a small cry, breaking the silence in the room. The sound of whispers carried by the wind is also there, telling something Bonnie cannot quite understand. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the feeling of dread envelops her body, leaving her cold and bitter. A sign she cannot ignore.

"Nik, you cannot allow such match to happen!" Bonnie urges as she tries to rid herself of the sick feeling still within her, to no avail.

It is then that she understands he Lady Grandmother's words. The _sight_.

"My love, Warwick has been my most faithful supporter ever since I was nothing but a boy," Niklaus reminds her, just as she expected him to. "He continues to support me even after everything. Do you understand why I cannot deny him?"

Perhaps, if Niklaus were not the King, Bonnie would be able to shout until she could make him see reason until she destroyed every thread of that blanket of loyalty wrapped around him. However, he _is_ her King. Her monarch before he is her husband. So she will have to make use of carefully chosen words and a soft tone.

"Those two girls will one day inherit one of the greatest fortunes in the land. Having them so close to the throne…" Bonnie trails off, not daring to voice the most disturbing thought that seems to be haunting her.

Since Elijah had forfeited his and his descendants' right to the throne; a decision made official by Act of Parliament, Finn, the Duke of Clarence remains the heir to the throne until they have a son. Warwick's influence is already far too great and it would become impossible to bear if he succeeds in making both of his daughters two of the highest ranked ladies in court. No, they must keep his blood away from the throne.

"You forget that he is the one who put the crown upon my head, love," Klaus reminds her with a light chuckle, failing to understand her anxiety.

"Then give him titles and more lands to display your gratitude and appreciation," Bonnie whispers; bringing the knuckles of his right hand to her lips. "You are the King now."

A kiss morphs into a wordless plea. He nods after a moment of hesitation; a King silently submitting to his Queen

"Thank you, Nik. Truly."

* * *

The English countryside may be peaceful and just so beautiful in the spring, there is something quite alluring about being at court. As much as Victoria loves to keep to her books, ensconced in Warwick Castle or Middleham, she cannot help but become wide-eyed with every glittering detail at Westminster Palace.

Unlike home, where she and Elena spend most of their days praying, practicing embroidery and appropriate dances, the Palace is filled with excitement. Feasts are served during the evenings when the King is in a good mood; entertainment never lacking. It is almost as if London is a whole different country.

"You believe the Queen will request us to join her household?" Victoria wonders out loud; her nimble fingers halting the needlework to stare up at Elena.

Though her voice is without feeling, Victoria is quite anxious regarding this particular matter. Her Lady Mother does not seem to have much appreciation for the Queen, but Victoria thinks she would very much like to be a part of Her Grace's household. All of her ladies look so elegant in their uniform gowns and they are so refined and worldly.

"I certainly hope not!" Elena snorts with derision and brings a hand to her mouth as if to cover the rather unladylike sound. "I do not imagine I would like to serve a witch."

Being a lady-in-waiting to the Queen may offer its perks, such as the opportunity to have Her Grace's ear and to have an advantageous match arranged. Elena, however, is a Neville. And a Neville will not serve a witch.

"Besides," Elena continues with a little mischievous smirk, setting her embroidery work aside. "Mother has informed me that Father has much bigger plans for us."

Victoria's brown eyes widen in surprise as she rushes to sit by Elena's side on the padded bench.

"Tell me!"

"You mustn't tell anyone, promise?" Elena says with a grave voice. The whole court has a penchant for gossip, even the servants. If even a single lady hears of it, the whole castle will know by nightfall. "Father will ask the King his permission for us to marry his brothers, the Dukes."

"Truly?" Victoria asks; a dainty hand resting on her chest as to calm her fluttering heartbeat. Certainly, these are quite important plans. Far more important than becoming a lady to the Queen.

As daughter to Alaric Neville, Victoria has not once doubted she would marry well. Wife of an Earl or even a Duke, perhaps. A royal Duke, brother to the King himself, is more than she could ever expect.

"Father is the most important noble in the court and I doubt the King could deny him after he's brought King Richard," Elena beams as she stands up and twirls around in childish glee. "We will be royal duchesses, Vicky! Isn't it marvelous?"

Before Victoria can answer, the sound of a slamming door reaches the solar, followed by a familiar masculine shout. Both girls look at each other as they recognize the culprit for the ruckus that is taking place. Their Lord Father does not sound pleased.

Placing a finger over her lips, Elena pads to the door. With wide eyes and obvious anxiety, Victoria joins her sister as they listen in on the conversation.

"But how could he refuse this?" Lady Joanna questions in obvious astonishment; her voice even becoming quieter than usual.

It hardly makes sense to her. The King owes his crown and position to her husband. If not for him, Niklaus would be little more than a traitor's second son; living the life of a pauper after Richard takes away their lands. It would only be sensible for the King to reward his most loyal courtier and agree to the match.

"I do not know," Warwick responds with gritted teeth. This was not supposed to happen. With his deal with France ruined, the King ought to give him this. If not for friendship, then to soothe his pride.

"A way to publicly humiliate us!" Joanna cries out, slamming both hands on the oak table. This time, there is no doubt of her fury; not a hint of the proper lady she was raised to be. "She marries her countless cousins to husbands that are far above their stations, leaving no suitable matches for our daughters!"

The young start-up Queen, devoid of allies in court, has decided to tie her blood to the most prominent families in England. Despite her distaste for this blatant social climbing, Joanna did nor begrudge the Queen for it, considering it to be a rather intelligent strategy. Until now.

As noble ladies who stand to inherit one of the greatest fortunes in the entire land, Elena and Victoria must make suitable marriages. For them, a betrothal to a lowly knight or a baron would be beneath them and an utter humiliation.

"Do not despair, wife, for I will find a solution," he assures her with full confidence; his mind already conceiving strategies and plans.

He has not rebelled against a weak King who would lead England to the brink of destruction, losing men of his kind, of his blood, for nothing. Margaret was a French woman who knew nothing of their customs and attempted to rule England through her husband. Alaric would be damned if he allowed such nonsense to take place again.

* * *

 _ **Berkshire, England**_

 _ **October, 1470**_

Restless from the day's journey, Bonnie is much relieved to step out of the carriage and be able to move again. The crisp breeze of autumn morning touches her face, and she sighs in delight. The scent of nature-the trees and the wet soil - permeates the air, reminding Bonnie of her utter love for nature.

"Mama, bees!" Madeleine squeals as she sees the tiny animal flittering around yellow wildflowers. "Beautiful bees."

Bonnie smiles as she watches her eldest lean down; her blue eyes narrowing in curiosity as she extends a hand to the bee.

Three years have passed and much to the pleasure of Their Graces, the beginning of a new season has been blessed by the arrival of a new daughter. A little more than a year after the birth of Madeleine, Eleanor comes into the world. She is a tiny and quiet babe that barely whimpered as the midwife bathed her and put honey in her mouth. Alice, the youngest, is the exact opposite. Loud and demanding, one would think she was sired by the King alone.

Her little girls are not the boy England so desperately needs, the Prince of Wales to secure the future of the Mikaelson line, but to Bonnie, they are as perfect as one can be.

"Now, come, Maddie!" Bonnie calls out before her overexcited daughter becomes too worked up to continue on their journey. "You too, Ellie!"

Dressed in a simple white cotton shift and mildly entertained by the different surroundings, Princess Eleanor turns to her mother after the dandelions fail to capture her attention.

"But I do not want to stay in the carriage, mama!" Madeleine complains as expected; little face frowning in what is the beginning of a tantrum.

Lady Finch, the governess entrusted with the Princesses' care and overseeing the royal nursery, quickly senses her charge's disposition becoming disagreeable. Not wishing to appear incompetent in front of the Queen, she is fast to take action.

"Your Highness, if you come into the carriage, you will be able to see the ponies quite soon!" Lady Finch assures; a smile crinkling her round face when the suspicious Princess walks toward her. The promise of ponies seems to be enough to mollify her.

"And we need to be in the carriage to travel to Windsor Castle so we can see your father," Bonnie reminds them, hoping the thought of finally seeing Niklaus will cheer them up.

"Papa?" Eleanor asks with a confused expression as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

"Yes, he is on Progress and we will join him. Wouldn't you like that, Ellie?"

Bonnie takes the little girl into her arms; a sense of tranquility enveloping her as Eleanor rests her head on her shoulder.

"Papa," she mumbles; dark brown curls flopping and eyes blinking as the small girl attempts to decide if she should remain awake or not.

"I know you miss him, my love. We shall be there soon enough," Bonnie whispers, perhaps to assure her own peace of mind rather than her young child's.

"Bonnie!" A familiar voice calls out, and Bonnie has to squint to see that it belongs to her father.

A rather unexpected sight, as the Earl of Derby and his brother, Baron Lisle, should be accompanying the King on his journey to Windsor Castle.

"Father, Uncle," Bonnie greets them as she hands Eleanor to her nursemaid. "What are you doing here? I expected to see you much later in the day."

Both men exchange concerned glances in what seems to be a silent conversation. Bonnie raises an eyebrow as she stares them down, hoping it will compel them to enlighten her on the situation.

"The King has instructed us to escort you and the princesses to Windsor Castle," Rudolph finally explains; his lips curling into a forced smile that inspires no sort of confidence in Bonnie.

For all of his faults, her father was never an adequate liar. And admirable trait in him that Bonnie most appreciates now.

"There is a rebellion and His Grace wants to ensure you are not harmed in any way," her Uncle says after noticing the hesitation in his brother.

"A simple rebellion was enough to urge you to come escort us? Windsor is just a few more hours' travels," Bonnie questions with a light chuckle, dismissing her previous feelings of unease.

Revolts are nothing new or significant in Niklaus' reign. Malcontent peasants in northern countries are aplenty, as some of them still keep their werewolf loyalties.

"There is something different in these rebels, Bonnie," Rudolph says in a quiet, ominous tone and this time, Bonnie feels her guts twisting with something akin to dread. "It is said there are thousands of them and they are well equipped with brand new boots and armors."

"Who could…" Bonnie begins to ask but interrupts her own words as realization dawns on her. The answer to her question is quite obvious. Who else has the fortune to arm thousands of rebels, who else has retired from court after an open display of his grievances towards the King?

"My dear niece, it would seem that Warwick wishes to live up to his honorific. He kingmakes once more."

* * *

 **A/N: A new chapter and I didn't even take that long! First of all, I wanna thank you, my amazing readers who take the time to review and let me know I am doing something right with this story! You probably don't know it, but every review makes me smile. I know some of you were disappointed that Bonnie didn't give birth to the Prince of Wales and that others plot against her, but you gotta understand that the nobles do not see her as one of their own and they are not at all keen on having their influence diminished. At this point, most of the plot points are based on history.**

 **Now there are three little princesses and the King will have to deal with a rebellion sponsored by the Earl of Warwick, so there will be plenty of action and nobles plotting to stay on top and some coming for Klaus' crown! I didn't outright say who wants to be the new King, but I think you'll be able to tell.**

 **And by the way,** y'all **should have a little more faith in me! Did you really think for a moment that I would _ever_ put Elena with Klaus? Don't worry, there will be no such thing in this fic or any other fic that I write, lol!**


	12. XII - Robin of Redesdale

_**Église Notre-Dame, Calais**_

 _ **October 1470**_

Under the soft candlelight, the gold thread embroidered onto her red gown glitters. To represent her purity, she wears her hair down; cascading dark curls adorned with a wreath made of violets.

It is not what she has imagined for her wedding. There are to be no guests besides her family to act as witnesses, no musicians playing lively melodies on the violin, no dancing, and no feast. Instead, her wedding ceremony will be performed by her uncle at an empty church. In a way, she expected this moment to be just as illustrious as it was for _her._ Perhaps it would not have the same opulence; with royal and noble guests from all Christendom and a sumptuous feast at Windsor Castle. But as the daughter of the Earl of Warwick, Elena expected more than this.

"Lena, are you nervous?" Victoria asks as she approaches her sister with careful steps; noticing the slight tremble in her hands.

"Do you think he will like me? That he will come to love me the way the King does her?" Elena wonders; her voice faltering as the anxiety becomes obvious. As much as she believes the King's union to be an unsuitable one, all of England knows of the adoration he bears her.

"Of course he will!" Victoria assures with a bright smile. "You look beautiful, sister. And soon, you will be a royal duchess! Is it not marvelous?"

In response, Elena smiles. Her eyes do not shimmer in happiness as it would be expected of a bride and the curl of her lips looks forced.

Nobody ever notices it, all of them too wrapped in their perceived glory. Little Elena Neville will become Duchess of Clarence and the Earl of Warwick will finally get his rebellion.

* * *

 _ **Windsor Castle, Berkshire**_

 _ **October 1470**_

Windsor Castle is a heap of activity as the servants scurry back and forth, attempting to make the place adequate to accommodate those who accompany the King and Queen on royal Progress.

Word of Robin of Redesdale and his growing army of rebels marching south has spread, causing quite the commotion throughout the castle's hallways.

Wishing to be insulated from such ruckus, the King and Queen have decided to retire to the royal chambers. Their supper- a light meal consisting of chicken, bread, and fruits -is a private and quiet affair. Bonnie has dismissed her ladies for the rest of the evening, so there are no hushed conversations or giggles. As Bonnie and Klaus sip on mulled wine, the hissing of the orange fire is the only sound to fill the room.

"I grow more and more concerned with each passing moment of your silence," she confesses with a whisper. "Tell me what is on your mind, husband."

"I have always known Warwick and Finn to be ambitious and power-hungry, but never to this extent," Klaus finally says; keeping his eyes focused on the lit fireplace instead of her. "He has supported me, has said that his greatest achievement was putting me on this throne and now he so easily turns against me!"

Klaus stands up and begins to pace around; his bare feet dragging against the crimson hued rug as he attempts to make sense of what has happened.

"At the Battle of Mortimer's Cross, we looked up to the sky and saw four suns! We all believed it to represent the four sons of Mikael, a sign of our victory and glory! How could one brother turn against the other?"

They are family, bound by blood and something stronger than any can imagine. The four Mikaelsons have fought side by side on the battlefield, risked their lives for each other. Bonnie knows little of war, but even she knows the importance of that connection forged in a mist of death, blood, and fear.

"Why would Finn support Warwick in such a senseless endeavor?" Bonnie wonders with a frown.

Despite her initial dismay, Finn is the heir to the throne; the one to become King should Niklaus perish without a son. The Duke of Clarence enjoys a high standing in court with his royal title and lands that generate a great income. Having a role in a rebellion would be senseless of him.

"Finn has gone against my command and married Elena," he explains with gritted teeth; grip on the bronze cup so tight that the metal bends just a little. Klaus hardly notices, so consumed with white hot anger and focused on not losing control. "And now they have both written the most ludicrous letter alleging that he is the rightful King, that I am a bastard!"

This time, his grip on self-control becomes too tenuous and he finds himself tossing the jug of wine into the fire. Surprisingly, he is able to dominate the unknown force that urges him to destroy every single object inside the castle while he cannot get his hands on Finn.

"God damn them both," Bonnie curses in a horrified whisper as she brings a hand to her rapid beating heart. "Warwick needed a figure to rally his men behind, so he's created this wretched gossip."

The wretched gossip questioning Niklaus' parentage is not exactly a new story. Bonnie has come to know of the existence of malicious whispers wondering if the Duke of Somerset was indeed the King's father years ago. His peculiar hybrid nature combined with Mikael's long absence as he was off fighting wars was enough to get tongues wagging. What surprises her, however, is to see that a purported ally is spreading such foul rumors.

Then again, it should not have been surprising, as her intuition has yet to fail her. And her intuition has not ever trusted Warwick, despite her husband's wishes for them to be friends.

"He has joined me in this war, helped to place the crown upon my head and now-"

"Now he wishes to make a Queen out of his daughter, with your brother by her side," Bonnie completes with disgust; taking a generous gulp of the sweet wine as if to wash away the bitterness left by those words.

* * *

His wrath ebbs away as the hours bleed into the starless night. While Klaus remains filled with a kind of resentment that can only be brought by the betrayal he's suffered, he finds that Bonnie is his only comfort. So he focuses on her.

Focuses on the glint in her green eyes as they widen in surprise when he places a furtive kiss on the nape of her neck. The scent of lavender that clings to her skin as he slides the thin white shift off her shoulders. Her warmth and the breathy moan she gasps out when he enters her and whispers meaningless words against her lips. Her blunt nails scratching his back as he spends inside of her. Her steady heartbeat against his chest, lulling him into a fitful sleep.

Their illusion of serenity disintegrates before dawn breaks before a new day can begin. Klaus, already alert for possible threats, snaps awake when he palms Bonnie's side of the bed and doesn't find her.

"Have you already come to miss me, love?"

Still disoriented, it takes a few seconds for Klaus to recognize that the voice is Bonnie's and not from a dream. Though her tone sounds rather jovial, her expression is anything but. Blunt teeth keep biting her lower lip until the usual pink shade turns into a dark red.

"I do hate to wake up without my wife by my side," he replies, propping himself into a sitting position. "Especially before I am to ride into battle and my own de-" he begins to say, but is hastily interrupted by Bonnie; the horror on her face now quite evident.

"Do not say it, Nik. Do not ever say it," she pleads as she pads her way back to bed, back to his side. "I forbid you from dying, do you understand?"

Though Klaus has the instinct to first laugh at her ludicrous request, he finds himself unable to. Unlike others in his life, Bonnie truly cares for him. To her, he is only Niklaus, not the King or a skilled warrior.

"It is not my intention to perish at such an early age, my love. Besides, I hardly think I would bear not being around you and the girls," he says with a small grin, hoping to assuage Bonnie's fears and perhaps his own. No more is he the man without a care who only thinks about glory in the battlefield and slaying his enemies. Klaus has no doubt Bonnie and his children will be at the forefront of his mind as he deals with this wretched situation.

"We will miss you as well," Bonnie whispers as she inches closer to him; until her face is a hair's breadth's from his and his natural warmth envelops her much like the furs she is wearing.

"And what is this?" Klaus questions when Bonnie hands him a small pouch, similar to the one she gave him before he went on to fight at Towton. "Have you crafted another spell for my benefit?"

"Your benefit and mine," she says with a matter of fact shrug. "I have no wish to be parted from my husband. However, this is also a keepsake to remember us by."

She opens the pouch to reveal four curls of hair, each in a different shade of brown. Hers and the girls'. Klaus smiles with so much delight one would think he's received a handful of gold or precious gems.

"Keep this on your person at all times," she directs, closing his hand around the velvet pouch and kissing his knuckles.

"It is you who worries me with your silence now, love. You remain silent while your eyes ask so much of me," Klaus comments with a frown as he brushes an unruly curl behind her left ear. "Tell me what ails you so."

"I merely fear what you will encounter when you reach Warwick and Finn," Bonnie confesses; her voice gritty as she tries to swallow down the tears that burn her eyes. The rational part of her knows Nik is a warrior. He's conquered the throne with his sword, after all. And yet, the fear continues to grip her heart, causing her to lose her composure.

"I do hope they are not quite obstinate as to engage in battle," Klaus says, attempting to sound confident despite his doubts concerning what he will face. He does not believe Warwick to be so foolish, but it would seem he is no longer privy to the workings of his mind. "It should be of no concern to you, love. I have some of the best men riding by my side."

His nonchalant attitude is to be expected. Niklaus is the King, but he's also her reckless and yet sweet husband who would not utter a word that would cause her grief. The naïve Bonnie of the past, the one who hardly has any knowledge of the English court, would have believed his words and the crooked smirk that curls his lips. Now, years of wearing the crown have taught her much and she knows this rebellion is indeed a harrowing matter. He may not wield as much influence and power as before, but Warwick remains a threat and they were fools to believe otherwise.

"What am I to do if not worry about you?"

"Rule the realm in my stead," Klaus instructs; voice carrying such authority that Bonnie does not say anything in a reply and merely nods. "Be a Queen and do not allow them to see any weakness. Trust no one. We must be seen as strong now."

Bonnie tips her chin up and nods again. The great weight of the crown presses down on her, making her feel as though she is a powerless little girl, but she ignores the sensation.

"We are strong, Nik. They will all know it."

* * *

 _ **Olney, Buckinghamshire**_

 _ **October 1470**_

The skies darken, casting a shadow over them as fat rain droplets start to fall down. It drenches everything in sight; leaving the men to scatter for cover under the foliage of the tall trees. Klaus, however, hardly winces as pellets of water hit his armor and blur his vision. His unquiet mind is unable to register the roaring thunders, for it is too focused on battlefield strategies.

His men, exhausted and chilled from the crisp autumn air, have been riding for days and they have yet to meet Pembroke and Devon. The two Lords in charge of rallying troops in his name and bringing reinforcements to quell this rebellion should have joined them a day after they left Nottingham. And yet, even after days of riding, there has been no word from either of them.

He fears this campaign may have been cursed by God. Not a drop of their enemies' blood was drawn by their swords, and they are already at a disadvantage. Outnumbered and underequipped, their best chance of quashing the rebels lies with Pembroke's and Devon's forces.

"What shall we do, Your Grace? Shall we march on?" Lord Aumerle questions as he pulls the reins of his horse, moving to the King's side. "It would be wise to cross the river and march north before the water rises."

With a quick glance, Klaus surveys his army. Just a few days past, they were enlivened by the prospect of finding glory in battle once more. Now, they are little more than weary bodies encased in mud-stained armors, thirsty for blood laced wine and the comfort of a Palace. Perhaps it would be easier to settle for the day and wait for the rain to pass. They cannot take the risk of dallying around, not when the massive army of rebels rides their way.

"We march on," he commands, ignoring the collective groan the men release even though he feels the exact way. Despite his enhanced nature and fondness for war, Klaus longs for the comfort of his home, for Bonnie's embrace. "This shall be over, and soon we will be celebrating our victory at Westminster. A great feast with enough wine to fill the Thames twice over!"

His promise comes out in a shout; raspy and loud enough to be heard through the roaring thunderstorm. The men cheer with newfound energy; the prospect of a night of debauchery just as sweet as a victory in the battlefield. Pleased with their enlivened spirits, Klaus allows a sense of confidence to fill him.

However, he finds such feeling to be short lived. A man, no a boy, no older than fifteen stumbles from behind the trees. Limping, wounded and bloody. Standing next to Klaus, Aumerle flinches and reaches for his sword. Klaus raises a hand to halt his actions. It is clear the boy poses no threat to them and should not be treated as such.

"Your Grace, my Lords!" he cries out with difficulty; releasing harsh breaths as the pain spreads from his midsection to his limbs. "I come from Edgecote! Pembroke and Devon have fallen to Warwick's forces!"

* * *

 _ **Windsor Castle, Berkshire**_

 _ **November 1470**_

 _My love,_

 _It is with a heavy heart that I write these words and I urge you to remain strong for our girls. I have been taken captive by Warwick. As I had imagined, he and Finn have allied with the rebels and destroyed our forces. While I have not been harmed, I implore you to take the girls and ride to London as soon as this letter reaches you. You must arm the Tower prepare for a siege. Please, remain safe, for I do not know what I would do without you. I love you and our daughters with all my strength._

 _Your husband and the rightful King of England,_

 _Niklaus R._

Bonnie's legs buckle under the weight of her body as she collapses onto the soft mattress of her bed. Tears cloud her eyesight, but Bonnie looks down at the letter once more. Staring at the dark ink that contrasts with the stark white parchment, she finds herself desperate. Desperate to find a secret meaning behind his words, for them to spell anything other than this wretched situation.

"Oh, my God!" Bonnie gasps out as she brings a hand to her chest; the harsh realization slamming into her like a hammer.

With the King as his hostage, there is little doubt Warwick will act to strengthen himself and his power. That means securing London and controlling those who bear the King's blood. Her girls are not Niklaus' heir, but they can still be used as pawns to consolidate his power.

Her grief contorts into an obstinate, quiet rage at that possibility. She will be dead and cursed before allowing Warwick to control any of her daughters.

"I must reunite with Father, ride to London and prepare the city for an attack," Bonnie murmurs to herself in a frantic tone. A desperate chuckle escapes from her lips as realization finally dawns on her.

She - a lady with little knowledge regarding matters of war - will have to fend off an attack by Warwick and prevent him from gaining control of London.

"Your Grace!" A familiar voice calls out, snapping Bonnie out of her unsettling thoughts. She looks up; eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline when she sees who stands at the threshold.

With the thick layer of mud and soot covering his face and blood-stained armor, he could almost be unrecognizable. Bonnie has no doubt of his identity, though.

"Marcel!" she cries out in surprise as leaps off the bed and rushes to his side. "Did Nik send you? He said I must go to London, to prepare for an attack. Where is my father? I-"

"Bonnie," Marcel Gerard, Baron Hastings, sighs and interrupts her frantic questioning with a whisper. "You father and uncle, they are dead. Warwick had them executed."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait, you guys. This chapter gave me some trouble, but here it is. I love writing about all the plotting and strategizing that happens at court, but battle scenes just ain't my thing. Next chapter we'll see Klaus in captivity, Warwick's plans, and how Bonnie will deal with all of this turmoil. For those who want Bonnie to do more: she will, but don't expect her to go into battle. It is a medieval society, and Bonnie was raised to be a perfect and proper lady. Much of her strength comes from being able to influence the King and powerful allies.**


	13. XIII- Captive

**_Tower of London_**

 ** _November 1470_**

Though not born to play the role of a Queen, Bonnie excels at it with an ease that surprises even herself. Due to the large retinue escorting the royal family and the bitter cold weather that has settled over England, the journey south to London is slow and absolutely grueling.

A constant, austere expression remains on her face as Bonnie is haunted by the image of her father; terror shining in his eyes before death comes. As much as she wants to surrender to the grief consuming her, Bonnie knows there is no time to weep and mourn. So, she swallows unshed tears and ignores the ache on her body. Not for a moment does Bonnie allow herself to be seen as anything other than the perfect Queen. Her chin remains raised and her spine straight.

The façade of strength finally dissolves with an anguished wail when Bonnie is reunited with her grandmother. Now in safety and shielded by the thick walls of Lanthorn Tower, Bonnie is no longer a Queen who must embody strength to her subjects. No, she is merely a daughter who lost her father and a wife who worries for the faith of her husband.

"I should have known, I should have known Warwick was this wretched and greedy for power!" Bonnie sobs; words running into each other in a nonsensical sound. "No charge, no trial. He had no right!"

Sheila, already familiar with the sharp pain of a loss and bereft of tears to shed, can only sigh.

"He had no right, but he had the opportunity and that is what matters," Sheila says without much emotion.

Her words may sound callous and perhaps unfeeling, but such is their reality. Bloodshed has always been a constant in their lives, from the beginning of times. England's soil is soaked with the blood of peasants, Lords, her ancestors and now her sons.

"Warwick has always despised our family and blames us for his slipping influence on the King. That is why he seeks to malign our name."

"He has done more than malign our name. He has murdered them, your two sons. What shall we do?"

Untangling herself from Bonnie's embrace, Sheila looks down at her granddaughter and shudders when she notices the hint of a storm brewing behind those big, green eyes.

"Bonnie?"

"He spreads lies about us, accuses us of levying taxes to fill our pockets!" Bonnie cries out; feeling her blood become warmer and warmer. It is the first time she is allowed to express her rage and it is far stronger than expected. "He had them executed and plots to put Finn on the throne. What if he kills Nik as well?"

"Do not even say these words!" Sheila commands in a harsh whisper. The words of a witch carry more power than one would believe.

"I cannot help but think it," Bonnie says; hands fiddling with her pearl necklace – a sweet present from Nik. "Warwick was bold enough to raise an army against the King, to take him captive. Had we arrived later, his men would have taken over the city!"

With the grace of God, London held loyal to the King. The alderman and the mayor welcomed her and her party and promised they would not turn their coats to Warwick.

"What do you suggest we do, child? Do you forget that you are Queen and not a knight? Wars are meant to be fought by men, Bonnie," Sheila reminds her; tone firm and yet gentle. Bonnie's blind loyalty is a beautiful trait of hers, something Sheila would never wish to see diminished. However, there is no place for irrational actions in her position as Queen.

Retaliation of any sort by Bonnie could be proven disastrous. No, they should allow men to fight their wars themselves.

"We are not knights, but we are witches. We must do something. They _killed your sons_ , Grandmother," Bonnie pleads; the rage within her mixing with nausea as realization dawn on her. Her father is dead, as is her uncle. Her Grandmother has lost both sons, and for all they know, their bodies are buried in a shallow grave. Perhaps this is the same faith Warwick wishes for her and her daughters. "I have no doubt they would have taken me and the girls as well to manipulate Nik's actions. If the men cannot fight him, we can at least weaken him."

"What you speak of is quite reckless. If they even suspect us of cursing a nobleman…" Sheila trails off, not wishing to think of the horrors of the torture methods used to punish a witch.

Though their family has reached a higher echelon of a court filled with vampires, witches remain very much reviled and feared. Even the smallest suspicion of Bonnie using her powers against a vampire peer would place them in harm's way.

"They will not. You told me yourself there are different curses in your grimoire. No one would know."

Bonnie's tone is confident and obstinate. A far cry from the hesitant, sweet girl that would run around barefooted through the gardens of Knebworth, Sheila notices with a twinge of sadness.

"I did not want you to be involved with such dark magic," Sheila says, part of her wishing she could have prevented all of this suffering. "You have a light, my child. Do not sully it to achieve revenge."

"What good is this light when they wish to see to our destruction? I tried to do as Nik said, tried to win his favor and be his friend. That failed and there is no reason for us to be merciful. Not when they have murdered Father and Uncle!"

"Oh, my child. God knows I didn't want this for you," Sheila murmurs; the anguish she has been harboring coming to the surface at last. What kind of a Grandmother would she be if she can't even protect Bonnie?

"I should have known, I should have known this man to be a monster," Bonnie mutters to herself as she gets up and begins to pace around. "And Finn… his mother will suffer the loss of a son, she will know this pain. She will hurt the same way you hurt right now."

"It will not bring them back, Bonnie," Sheila reminds her; her expression just as pained as Bonnie's. "Please, do not allow the need for revenge to consume you."

Sheila has seen it. The awful way hatred and resentment can destroy a person. Imagining her daughter falling victim to that is just heartbreaking.

"It will only consume me if I fail to act," Bonnie says, and Sheila understands it is not a bluff or an exaggeration on her part.

The realization causes her to sigh in resignation. Her little Bonnie is little and naïve no more; her role as consort having molded her into a different person.

"There is a spell. It will not strike them down, but it will weaken them. We shall do it later; tonight."

* * *

 _ **Middleham Castle, Yorkshire**_

 _ **November 1470**_

Despite his luxurious surroundings, with colorful tapestries hanging on the walls, hand carved oak furniture and an exorbitant amount of wine available to him, Klaus has no doubt Middleham is his prison. After all, the castle is a Neville stronghold and Warwick knows the power he has by keeping him captive.

"You are so very bold to show your face, cousin. Perhaps you do not see treason as a shameful deed, I take it," Klaus comments; sarcasm dripping from his voice and lips curled in amusement and disgust.

A proud man; Warwick attempts to disguise his discomfort under Niklaus' gaze. The King may be much younger than himself, but he has mastered the art of intimidation. Besides, it would not do to display any weakness to Niklaus, not when Warwick is the one who should be in the position of power.

"Niklaus, you must understand-" Alaric begins to say; attempting to sound calmer than he really is.

Klaus, however, has no patience for his cousin's empty and pathetic explanations.

"I am Your Grace to you, the rightful King of England. And I must understand nothing!" He interrupts with a vociferous reminder as he slams both hands on the table. "You and Finn have supported a rebellion against me, have spread lies to malign my character and purport me as a bastard. Tell me, why have you fought beside me to put me on that throne if it was your plan to betray me?"

"Your Grace, you are mistaken. I had no wish to betray you," Warwick says in an honest tone; prompting Klaus to let out a sardonic chuckle.

"You have the most particular manner of displaying your loyalty, I must say," Klaus comments as he folds his hands over his lap, enjoying how uncomfortable Warwick seems to be under his gaze. It is rather satisfying; having the great Earl of Warwick squirming as if he was a green boy. "Is marrying your daughter to my brother without my consent a display of your loyalty? Perhaps supporting rebel armies and inciting them with baseless lies?"

Being part of a rebellion against him is treasonous enough, but to spread such lies verges on being unforgivable. Warwick of all people should better understand the gravity of these claims. His hybrid nature has always posed a question concerning the legitimacy of his heritage and the last Niklaus wishes is to validate these ridiculous rumors.

"I was merely attempting to save you from yourself and your own naiveté!" Warwick hisses out after a moment of silence; red in the face and eyes wide in surprise at his own outburst.

"Saving myself from what? I have not been a naïve boy ever since I got in my horse and defeated Margaret's armies."

"The Bennetts," Warwick replies with pursed lips; failing to conceal the distaste that seeps into his words.

"My marriage to the Queen has been nothing but blessed by God, and yet you remain spiteful with my decision to have my marriage to Aurora annulled."

Klaus should have realized the true motive for Alaric's wrath. His cousin is far too enamored with gold and power to forget the losses that came when their alliance with France was dissolved. Even though it is obvious that God has smiled upon his union with Bonnie by gracing them with three healthy children, it would seem that Warwick would still have him married to Aurora.

"It is not out of spite that I have done this!" Alaric begins to explain, ignoring the obvious skeptical snort from Niklaus.

His words may be carefully chosen, but they are not entirely false. It was not Niklaus' senseless decision to marry his own subject and a witch that has aroused his rebellious dormant nature. No, it is Niklaus' eagerness to elevate the Bennetts, a family that should be nowhere near the throne, above all others. Above more deserving families. Some of them have fought, bled and died for their King, only to see the Queen's cousins – daughters of a second son with no important title – make marriages way above their stations. Their sacrifice was made to have a Mikaelson ruling England, not a family of witches.

"You have alienated all of your supporters in that family's favor. The council believes-"

"You believe me to be dimwitted as Richard? I know the Lords will believe and think whatever you tell them and now you tell them to turn against me!"

"I do not deny that we all agree that the Bennetts should be dismissed from their positions. It is a simple request," Warwick says with a shrug; hopeful that they can finally put this issue to rest.

"A request you know I will never comply!" Klaus cries out, feeling the last shred of his temper leave him.

He's had to endure the humiliation of being captured, the agony of not knowing how his wife and daughters fared, and now Warwick speaks to him as if he was a dimwitted green boy.

"They are upstarters abusing your generosity! They are-" Warwick begins to rant, paying little attention to the way the King's face turns red.

"Loyal to me!" He growls out; a hint of his werewolf blood coming to the surface as his eyes take on a golden hue.

Though courageous in battle, Warwick still has his wits on him. With both hands raised in a sign of silent capitulation, he backs away.

"Which is far more then I can say about you and Finn, dear cousin. Do not fool yourself into believing you can make demands of me just because you hold me captive here."

"You may not believe so, but my loyalty remains with you, Niklaus. I merely wish to advise you."

"Advise me?" Klaus questions; another mirthless chuckle forming in the back of his throat. The audacity of him would be more outraging if not amusing. "You mean to tell me that your support of the rebels and keeping me captive here are a scheme to advise me on matters of the realm?"

"Has she blinded you to the point of ignorance?" Warwick questions; not even making an effort to conceal his disappointment. Niklaus is the son Joanna could not bear him, the reason to fill him with pride. His child is gone; their connection severed due to the Queen's manipulations.

"Well, since you insist on keeping me here with the intent of offering _advice_ , send for wine and venison," Klaus instructs as he places both feet on the expensive oak table; lips curled in a mocking smirk. "I shall run my country the way I see fit."

Despite being Warwick's captive, he remains a King, does he not? He will behave as such, then.

* * *

 ** _The Tower of London_**

 ** _November 1470_**

They wait until the moon is high in the sky; a shade of milky white contrasting with the dark, black canvas. The cold autumn wind is strong, howling as it blows through Bonnie's hair and chills her to the bone. She wraps the shawl around her body, presses her lips together in a hard line to keep her teeth from chattering. Clad in plain, grey dresses that could belong to a servant and in the darkness of the night, they manage to slip unnoticed past the guards.

"Here," Sheila says, pointing to a secluded spot on the green, surrounded by shrubs and tall trees. "This shall be enough for us to draw power from nature. Are you sure you wish to do this? Warwick and Clarence will fall to the sword eventually."

"I am sure. I may not be able to draw their blood, but I want to know I had a hand in their downfall. I want to know _we_ have avenged Father and Uncle," Bonnie assures, wiping away resentful tears with the back of her hand.

Even in the dim light provided by the moon, Sheila can make out the determination and resentment in her granddaughter's face. In a way, she is hardly surprised. Bonnie may be of the sweetest disposition, but her loyalty to her family is not be questioned. Not now or ever.

000

 _ **Middleham Castle, Yorkshire**_

 _ **November 1470**_

Despite the pleased grins of Father, her Lady Mother, and Victoria, Elena, Duchess of Clarence strains to keep a neutral expression on her face.

Oh, how naïve she had been when she believed her wedding to Finn was merely for her own happiness. She foolishly thought it was a most generous present from Father when in reality he was only thinking of himself. Thinking of expanding his own power. She was nothing but a bargaining chip in his arsenal; not a daughter but an object of his.

Judging by the glint in his eyes and the manner in which his lips curl in satisfaction, Elena just knows his plans involving her are not quite over.

"Are you certain?" Alaric asks Joanna, slanting his gaze to analyze Elena with narrowed eyes. They could not act if there is any doubt.

"Yes, the physician has confirmed it. She is with child," Joanna answers with a firm nod. Though her facial expression is placid and reveals no sign of anxiety, her thin, long fingers twitch ever so slightly. She would support her husband in his every endeavor, but for some reason, it is difficult to ignore the way her chest tightens when thinking of the foreseeable future.

Warwick, however, does not seem to have such qualms. His usual austere and reserved demeanor gives way to obvious excitement as he clasps both hands together.

"We must act quickly now. Before Niklaus' supporters regain their strength," he states to no one in particular; dragging his booted feet against the rug as he paces back and forth. "Parliament must be summoned so Finn is declared King and Elena his Queen!"

The healthy flush on Elena's cheeks disappears in seconds as she brings a hand to her lips, willing herself not to sick all over the floor. She had dreamed of being a Queen in the past when she was nothing but a silly little girl. To herself and Victoria, it was the most delightful make-believe.

They would have pretty silk and lace dresses commissioned according to the modern and somewhat scandalous French fashion, host sumptuous feasts at Westminster Palace and spend the night dancing the Pavane and drinking Burgundian wine. To a ten-year-old girl with a crown of flowers upon her head, that idea sounded lovely. However, Elena is not the little girl with childish aspirations anymore. She has seen what being a Queen entails, and she has no wish to be one.

"Queen? But the King-" Elena protests in a faint tone, only to be interrupted by her father's cynical snickering.

"Oh, do not be such a fool, Elena. Niklaus is quite aware of our intentions. There is no use in pretending anymore," Warwick states, careful not to show a hint of the hesitancy that befalls him. He has already overthrown one King and crowned another and as their situation dictates, he shall do it once more.

"I cannot-" Elena whispers in a faint, beseeching tone. She cannot be Queen, cannot do _this._

"You can and you will, Elena!" Joanna snaps out in a moment of impatience, finally showing who she could be underneath her docile and quiet exterior. "We cannot afford to turn back. Much has been risked and we must carry on."

"But Parliament will never allow it!" Victoria pipes in as she rushes to Elena's side; her small voice hesitant and yet anxious to protect her older sister.

Joanna shakes her head and releases a scornful chuckle, one that would cause her own mother to shake her head in disapproval. Oh, her manners may not be befitting of the Countess of Warwick, but she hardly has a care.

"The Bennetts are loathed! They have pushed away your father and all of Niklaus' trusted advisors. They are a witch family who openly supported the werewolves!" Joanna hisses; the corners of her lips curling downward in disgust. "England is at great peril if they continue to exert such influence. If Parliament is concerned with the future of this country, they will place Finn on the throne. And you, my daughter, shall be crowned Queen of England."

* * *

Even without his crown, his jewelry or the reverence of a court, there is no denying Niklaus continues to carry himself as the undoubted King of England. He may be held captive at Middleham, watched closely by guards and servants who observe his every move instead of ruling the country at Westminster Palace, but he feels just as powerful.

Warwick's attempt to consolidate power for himself based on Finn's ludicrous claim and mask Niklaus' captivity as an extended visit has failed time and time again. Despite his firm grasp on the Privy Council, it is clear that he has not been able to fool the whole of England. Niklaus' removal from power has proven to be chaotic, causing skirmishes throughout the realm. Skirmishes that could only be resolved with the presence of the King, a trouble Warwick had failed to predict.

It would seem that the Earl of Warwick has underestimated the true power of the King of England and Niklaus couldn't possibly be more pleased. As a matter of fact, he cannot even conceal the smugness within himself when he sees Warwick and Finn entering the room.

The first thing Niklaus notes is their unusual demeanor. Both Warwick and his brother love to put on airs, with puffed out chests and straight spines. In this occasion, however, there is none of that. They look a tad sheepish, like children who were scolded by their governess. It doesn't take long for Klaus to guess the reason for their behavior.

Parliament convened at York and it was obvious they did not get their way.

"Have you returned already?" Klaus asks as he sets his book down and picks up the metal jar to pour himself some wine. Just a little, for he needs to keep his wits about, but this moment requires a goblet of spiced wine. "Judging from the lack of enthusiasm and Finn's pathetic demeanor, I figure you do not carry joyful news. Parliament did not submit to you, just as I have predicted."

Save for the howling of the wind and rustling of the dried leaves outside, the solar is silent. It is as if each man would rather try to decipher their opponent than make the first move. Aware of his upper hand and anxious to solve the stalemate, Klaus is the one to break the silence.

"Tell me, brother. How does it feel to know that not even your treason and lies were enough to secure you the throne?" Klaus wonders out loud as he sips on the wine; chuckling in amusement when he notices the grip on Finn's sword becoming tighter.

"We did not intend to commit treason or betray your confidence, Your Grace," Warwick assures, no doubt in an attempt to flatter the King and diffuse the growing tension between brothers. He is unsuccessful in either task.

"This particular matter shall be resolved at a later time, cousin," Klaus assures with a tone cold enough to freeze the Thames over, barely glancing at Warwick.

While the anger of his betrayal still makes the blood in his veins simmer, Klaus can only think of traveling south and returning to London. The issue of Warwick and Finn's future could be settled in a few weeks' time; after the Great Council is convened. Most importantly, after he's laid eyes on Bonnie and the girls and is assured they have not been harmed in any way.

"It is hardly treason if I am attempting to save England from you and your witch!" Finn shouts, ignoring Warwick's narrowed eyes and the obvious expression that orders him to control himself.

"Then kill me, brother, and take the throne for yourself," Niklaus hisses, opening both arms in a clear dare.

Just as predicted, Finn cannot help himself. Releasing a low growl, the younger Mikaelson crosses the length of the room in a few strides until only inches separate him from Klaus. The hand gripping the handle of his sword trembles ever so slightly; a small measure of self-control. A part of Finn would love nothing more than drive that sword through Niklaus' belly, bleed him out and be done with it. No longer would England have to put up with the travesty that a witch family controlling the realm through the King.

"Finn!" Warwick calls out in admonition from his spot next to the threshold. "Enough."

Unlike Finn, Warwick has not allowed any disgruntlement to tamper with his reason. They will not be able to succeed without Parliament's support and killing an anointed King will not endear Finn in the eyes of the English people. Nor even Henry Bolingbrook was blatant when killing Richard. It is best to accept that they gambled and lost. No need to muck things up even more.

"Now, cousin," Klaus begins to say as he turns to face Warwick, dismissing Finn and whatever pathetic altercation he may wish to have without a single word. "Are you to prepare a horse for my journey willingly or shall I write to Elijah and ask for a proper escort?"

Niklaus' voice is amiable as if he is discussing the autumn weather or the plants growing outside in the gardens. The threat carried in his words, however, is evident. So, Warwick does what any man with wits would do in this situation.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he acquiesces, bowing his head in respect as Niklaus walks by him.

When the servants rush to inform Warwick the King has taken a horse from the stables and left Middleham along with two other men, there is little he can do.

* * *

 ** _Tower of London_**

 ** _November 1470_**

Surprisingly, it does not take long for Bonnie to become accustomed to being sequestered at the Tower. Her rooms in Lanthorn Tower may have need of a few renovations and not boast as much luxury as the Queen's quarters at the Palace, but it is a safe place and she can rest easy knowing her family will not be in harm's way.

 _Well, not her entire family,_ Bonnie thinks with bitterness as she thinks of her husband and the few letters that have reached her. Nik was sweet enough to find a way to have little scribbled down pieces of parchment delivered to her in an attempt to soothe her distraught mind and assure her of his wellbeing. While it is a great relief to know he's not being kept captive in a dreary dungeon and has received treatment befitting his station, Bonnie is not naïve. His crown is what protects him from Warwick's machinations and crown can be lost with some persuasion. Nik would not be safe until he remained in Warwick's grasp.

Releasing a weary sigh, Bonnie rolls the parchment and places it back on the desk. Reading his words over and over again is another reminder of his absence and far more painful than she expected. Her heavy heart only lightens up when the sound of a soft breath catches her attention. Nestled against a pile of pillows and layers of sheets, two of Bonnie's loves sleep as if their world remains undisturbed. Well, one of Bonnie's loves.

Much to her relief, Madeleine and Eleanor have hardly been affected by their weeks' stay at the Tower. Thus far, the only difference in behavior is their insistence on spending the night in her chambers instead of the nursery. A difference she hardly minds. To the consternation of the courtiers around her, Bonnie has already made it clear she is to be a constant presence in her children's upbringing.

"Little love, why are you awake?" Bonnie asks Eleanor as she kneels beside her. The smile comes to her face as soon as she looks at her daughter's wide hazel eyes and her wild brown curls. "You want Mama to tell you another story?"

"Papa," Eleanor murmurs; her tone a mixture of longing and childish whine. Bonnie's smile dissolves immediately; replaced by a frown. Perhaps it was naïve of her to believe the children would not notice their father's absence. Eleanor may be young, but the two-year-old has always been quite sensitive and the closest to Nik.

"Shh, my darling," Bonnie soothes, placing a kiss on her forehead. Ever the obedient and calm child, Eleanor's eyes flutter close. "Your Papa is-"

"Very sorry for keeping you waiting for so long."

The voice is so clear and familiar that Bonnie is paralyzed, wondering whether her imagination is playing games with her mind. If it is, Bonnie doesn't want to know. So she stands still, not wishing to turn around and realize she was imagining his presence.

"I have missed you, love. More than you can imagine," he whispers, rubbing his nose against the side of her neck. The contact is enough to make Bonnie melt against him; tears running down her face.

"You are here," Bonnie mumbles as she wraps her arms around him. His usually clean minty scent is muskier than usual and his hair is longer, but it's Nik. He's there, he's safe. "I thought..."

Bonnie can hardly bring herself to voice her fears. Her fear of never seeing or holding him ever again, her fear of Warwick dealing him the same faith of her father and uncle.

"Shhh," Niklaus soothes as he kisses the trail of tears on her cheek, taking his time to allow himself to breathe her in once more. "I remember a fierce little witch forbidding me from dying. I could not possibly ignore her command. Now, we shall go home, love."

Home. There is nothing Bonnie wants more. Well, other than seeing Finn's and Warwick's heads placed on spikes outside the gates.

* * *

A/N: Damn, I did not realize it took me so long to update. The World Cup completely stole my focus, but here I am. Sorry for the wait, you guys. I hope you're not too mad at me. I promise I'll try to update faster. Let me know your thoughts! I know there was not a lot of Klonnie, but I wanted to take some time to show more of Warwick and his plans even though yall hate him.


	14. XIV- For the good of the Realm

_**Palace of Westminster, London**_

 _ **December 1470**_

"To King Niklaus, the rightful King of England!" Marcel, Baron Hastings, one of Niklaus' most ardent supporters, toasts as he raises his metal goblet, prompting others to imitate his gesture. "May your enemies never attempt to defy you ever again."

"I will drink to that, my friend!" Niklaus cries out in amusement after draining the wine on his goblet. Despite Warwick offering him a treatment that befitted his station at Middleham, Klaus missed the taste of sweet Burgundian wine. "May we have peace from now on."

"I do understand your desire for peace, but what is to be done regarding the traitors?" Baron Hastings wonders in curiosity, and immediately noticed the shift in everyone's disposition. The men pause their conversations for a moment, still mournful of the recent events, but they recover when a busty servant appears to fill their goblets with more wine.

"The council will reconvene this week to decide on the faith of those who supported Robin of Redesdale. I imagine some of the leaders will be executed," Klaus answered; his tone devoid of any emotion. The anger that ran hot through him has cooled down and left him rather merciless.

"Warwick as well?" Standing next to him, Bonnie asks in a quiet voice. Though she looks measured and calm as a proper Queen should, Klaus can see the fury storm brewing in her green eyes. Usually so kind, they look like could belong to a man who is about to go to war now. Considering what he is about to tell her, Klaus fears his wife is to wage battle against him. "Will he finally be punished for his deeds?"

"Forgive me, my love, but he will not," Klaus answers; guilt crashing over him as he feels small as a child and so, so feeble. He's the fucking King of England. He should be able to pick up a sword and avenge the blood that has been spilled. And yet, he cannot. "The Privy Council believes that enacting revenge on Warwick is unfeasible."

With a sharp intake of breath, Bonnie takes a step back as if she was physically hurt by his words.

"He's murdered my father and uncle in cold blood," she whispers; voice so quiet that he barely hears her over the loud crackling of the burning fire. "He denied them the right of a proper burial. Is this not enough motive for revenge?"

His wife, so small and precious. He would go to war for her, he was willing to tear up his own country for her, but not this time. There would be no punishment to avenge Warwick's horrific deeds. Not when his cousin continues to wield influence, despite his latest loss.

"And there is something else in my deal," Klaus says with a sigh; hardly feeling like the King he is. "I've offered Madeleine's hand in marriage to Warwick's niece. He has accepted."

At that moment, Bonnie can feel the cloak of pleasantries used to disguise her true spirits slipping away from her. A proper Queen would not allow any emotion to be reflected in her face. She would smile and ask her husband's permission to retire for the night. Bonnie finds, that given the recent events, there is a role more important than Queen. The one of a mother.

"What?!" Unlike her meek whisper of a moment ago, Bonnie all but roars out the word. "No."

"My love, I had to," Klaus attempts to explain; taking a step towards her and grimacing when she flinches away from him. "Warwick won't come against me if there is a chance of his blood being on the throne."

Even though she is a woman with not much knowledge of court politics, Bonnie understands his strategy. However, she has no mind for strategy or reason. Not when it concerns her daughters. For them, she would go to war against anyone, even her own husband.

"Madeleine will marry that man's nephew _over my_ _dead body_ ," Bonnie utters; the tone of her voice raspy and so forceful Klaus finds himself with wide eyes. "I tell you now, she will never marry him!"

"They would have killed you and the girls!" Klaus shouts; losing his tenuous grip on self-control. Why can't she understand the reasoning behind his actions? "I am trying to protect you and if I have to marry Madeleine to Warwick's nephew to ensure that, I will!"

"I am sorry for my ignorance, Your Grace. May I have your leave?"

Her cheeks flush a bright red as she swallows down the urge to destroy every single precious item in a temper tantrum. Instead, she displays the impeccable etiquette tutoring she's received in France. With a straight spine, Bonnie curtsies; her eyes focused on Klaus' the entire time.

* * *

Bonnie may not have appreciated Westminster Palace, much preferring the calmness of Windsor or Greenwich, but she just adores the gardens surrounding the castle. Though not as expansive or filled with tall birch trees and green foliage, there is something magical in the gardens in the winter. A fresh shower of snow has fallen overnight; covering the grounds with a thick white layer and freezing everything on sight. For this moment, all nature is on hold, just waiting until spring to arrive so it can bloom once more.

Most of all, everything is so very quiet, with most of the courtiers taking refuge from the bitter cold inside the palace. Wrapped in heavy furs to shield her from the gelid blowing winds, the Queen and her two ladies are the only ones to venture outside for a late afternoon stroll.

She inhales, filling her lungs with fresh air – a rarity after her days in the Tower and now in the overcrowded Palace. A childish giggle escapes from her lips when a snowdrop lands on her nose, reminding her of her time in Knebworth. Of when she would disregard her Lady Grandmother's orders and stain the hem of her dresses. How small and naïve she was back then. At that time, it felt like her mother's absence was the most painful endeavor she would ever endure. Oh, what Bonnie wouldn't give to be that little girl once again. To dream of pretty embroidered dresses and dancing at feasts. Now she has a crown on her head, and the weight of it is utterly stifling.

It is because of that crown that she could not properly mourn her father and uncle. It is because of this crown that she will have to welcome traitors into her home with a smile on her face.

"Bonnie?" His familiar voice cuts through the fog that surrounds her mind. In any other occasion, Bonnie would have turned around with a bright. Today, she hardly has the disposition to keep pretending his actions have not cut her.

"Your Grace," she murmurs and takes a deep bow. Sounding respectful and so cold he releases a frustrated sigh; running his glove-covered fingers through his hair. "How are you faring this evening?"

Her tone is charming and polite, just as Madame Montemont – her tutor in France- taught her. If Niklaus wants to be her sovereign first, she will indulge his wishes. After all, she is nothing if not a devoted wife.

"I would like for us to supper together," he says with clear hesitation. Such a difference from the woman who always treats with tenderness. Not even in the first time they crossed paths did she act so cold towards him. This new disposition of hers is enough to unsettle him. "I have asked the cooks to prepare some lamb. I know it's your favorite."

Despite everything, Bonnie smiles at his attempt to be sweet. Not the conqueror King who slew his way to the throne, but the man who pledged his love and wanted to go against Rome for her. Perhaps it would be easier if Bonnie could simply regard him as that man and ignore everything else. However, the thought of accepting Warwick back into her home is enough to make her ill. In both health and temperament.

"I am afraid I find myself indisposed, but I trust you will enjoy the feast without my presence, Your Grace," Bonnie responds, feeling a small feeling of satisfaction caused by her moment of impertinence. "I wish to spend the night in the nursery, with my daughters."

With the daughter you intend to sell off to our enemy is what she wishes to say, but manages to take control of herself. Klaus takes a step back, unsure of how to react. A King would command his wife's presence at the feast. After all, it is imperative that they show harmony and resilience after an attack. A mere husband, however, would not behave in such a way. He would be loving and understanding, and that is all Klaus wishes to be for the moment. With an exhausted sigh, Niklaus pulls her flush against him; the furs wrapped around her body tickling his skin.

"My wife…"

"No, Nik. I understand you are my King first and I have made an oath to obey you, but I-"

"Do you not see that I crave your love instead of obedience? I have the whole England to obey me, and only one stubborn witch to love," he assures, bringing both of her gloved hands to his lips in a gentle kiss. "While I was in captivity, the memory of you and our daughters was the only thing that offered me strength. I feared I would never see you again."

She almost melts into his touch and his whispered words but is reminded of the reason for the tension between them.

"Then why do you wish to forgive the man who caused us so much pain?"

"Bonnie," he murmurs, releasing a harsh breath of frustration.

"He has murdered my father and uncle in cold blood! Had them beheaded as if they were nothing but traitors. I spent nights praying for your life and trying to assure our daughters we were not in danger!" Bonnie cries out; no longer the young Queen in control of her emotions. "And now you want to welcome this man back into our lives as if nothing has happened. Do you understand what you ask of me?"

"If I were an ordinary man, I would hunt him down myself and kill him with my own hands," Klaus says as he pushes a strand of dark brown hair away from her eye. "But I'm a King and England must come first. Warwick is much too powerful. If I had him executed, I would plunge England into civil war. And I am not sure I would come out the victor."

Despite multiple, conflicting thoughts swirling in her mind – she wants to be bloodthirsty like Margaret herself when she ruled England, she wants to be a forgiving Christian – Bonnie keeps silent and offers him a small nod.

"I would rather be thought a coward and accept Warwick and my brother back than see any harm come to you or the girls," Klaus confesses, not caring if her ladies could hear him. "I am sorry for this, but it is what we must bear for our safety."

The selfish in Bonnie wishes to rebel and plead for Warwick's head on a spike, but she is able to hold herself.

"Just promise me something, Nik," Bonnie pleads after a moment of silence as she moves closer to him. "Don't give him your trust ever again."

* * *

Despite the frigid cold and dark weather that has settled over London and the remaining scars left by the rebellions in the fall, King Niklaus' court is brimming with Christmas excitement. Wishing to make the courtiers forget the bloody ordeal, no expenses were spared in order to make this Christmas feast the most splendid of all times. Everything, from the generous spread of roasted meats and tarts on the tables to the glittering intricate diamond tiara sitting atop Bonnie's curls, is to prove that England and its monarch are stronger than any enemy.

From a secluded spot near the corner, Bonnie observes her ladies dancing the estampie; the fabric of their dresses flowing as they were lifted by their dance partners. In any other occasion, she would be dancing herself, mindless of all the eyes on her. Christmastide has always been a joyful time in her life, after all. Today, however, Bonnie can hardly breathe; the air becoming stifling every time her eyes catch a glimpse of Warwick and his lot. As expected, the man is devoid of humility. Even after a defeat, his head remains high as he walks through the room and converses with other lords.

It is as if nothing has happened. As if he hasn't raised an army against her husband, as if he hasn't ordered her family's murders.

A rather nauseating sight.

"Goodness, child! This is Christmas. Do try to look happy or the court will be ablaze with gossip by tomorrow," Lady Sheila quietly admonishes her granddaughter; her voice still gentle as she takes a sip of the mulled wine.

"We have to feast with the man who murdered Father and Uncle," Bonnie hisses, forgetting herself for a moment. "I wager gossip will spread regardless of my attitude."

"You are Queen and supposed to be better than them," Sheila replies, this time more rigid and showing she has no patience for Bonnie's short temper. "Do not give Warwick the pleasure of seeing how much he affects you."

Bonnie flushes pink and nods. Her Lady Grandmother is right. Showing her true feelings would accomplish nothing, but to give Warwick and Finn a motive to rejoice.

"I will not, Grandmother."

"Happy Christmas, Your Grace, Lady Bennett. I trust you are enjoying this marvelous feast," Warwick, in all of his cynic nature, asks; making sure to sound amiable for the curious ears around them. "This is such a wonderful time, wouldn't you say?"

It takes everything in Bonnie to control the furious energy that runs through her veins. She wants to lash it at him and make him submit after she sees him bleed all over his golden colored doublet. She wants to be as ruthless and show him the same compassion he did her family. A sweet, perverse fantasy. Her reality is much more frustrating.

"My husband may have forgiven you, but I will not forget your vile deeds, Lord Warwick," Bonnie resigns herself to uttering these words, almost tasting the venom that coats her lips.

"Decisions made in the heat of the battle are never easy, Your Grace. I do hope you understand," he says without a hint of regret. "Now if you will excuse me, I see my Aunt Esther and I have been anxious to share the news of Elena's child with her. I believe she will be most delighted to finally celebrate the birth of a grandson."

He stares at her almost as if daring her to have a reaction. Bonnie's nails bit the skin of her own hand until it almost draws blood, but she says nothing. For a moment, she thinks of the curse they laid on him and it brings her some relief. He will smile and relish his newfound prestige with the King, but it will not be for long.

She will see to that.

* * *

"This is hardly an accurate prediction," Sheila warns as she leads Bonnie to a pond in the most secluded part of the gardens. The hems of their dresses, expensive and made from the finest silk, become stained by the slush of melted snow and crushed leaves on the ground. "Bennetts were not gifted with the power of prediction and sight like some other families."

"It's alright," Bonnie says in resignation. What else is there to do but to seek this small comfort? "I just need to know."

" _I see that the Duke of Clarence has returned to the King's good graces. He is walking around like a proud peacock!" the man exclaimed in laughter, no doubt already inebriated by the flowing stream of wine being served._

" _Well, he has a reason to be," the other man - this taller and seemingly sober when compared to his chattering companion – replies. "He's got himself a little Neville wife and she's already swollen with child. Perhaps by next Christmas, the Duchess will have proved herself to be more useful than the Queen."_

 _His words are spoken in a quieter tone - the man is well aware of their gravity – but they reach Bonnie nonetheless. Standing in a secluded corner of the hall, and unwilling to witness the distasteful sight of Warwick and his allies parading themselves with pride, she is able to hear this awful conversation with painful clarity._

" _The Queen? She has already proved herself in the childbed."_

" _Yes, her womb seems to do its business, but she has yet to give the King a son. Believe me, if Clarence has a healthy son by next year and the King only has his girls, allegiances will begin to shift."_

Bonnie just needs to know if she will fulfill her duty to England, to her husband, or if everything will slip through her fingers because of her. She needs to know so she can protect her daughters. Warwick and Finn would not show them any mercy if they ever reach absolute power.

"Choose a leaf, child," Sheila instructs, gesturing to a pile of dry, nearly frozen leaves. Bonnie frowns as she leans down to pick one. They shouldn't be there – all of nature is dormant, the green of trees fallen off and blown away by the wind. She finally takes one and hands it to her grandmother.

" _Revelare_ _fatum_ e _futurae,_ " Sheila chants in a low voice as not to attract any untoward attention. Little by little, the leaf loses its orange, dead appearance; becoming emerald green and alive again. "Turn it over, child. Let us see if the spell worked."

Bonnie takes the leaf back, not noticing the slight tremble in her hands. What if it didn't work, or worse, what if it worked and it revealed a terrible faith?

Etched in golden, the elegant cursive letters spell two clear words that stand out against the dark green. _Prince Nicholas._ Her little prince. She would have her prince and would secure the throne for her family.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for my absence! I really have no excuses, because I wrote this chapter's outline months ago. I hope y'all are still able to get excited with the confirmation that Bonnie will have her long-awaited baby boy and don't get mad that Klaus had to make some controversial decisions! Something's wrong with me and I've started writing a new royalty Klonnie AU, but don't worry, I'll still work on my other stories, including Adventures. Let me know what you** think, **your reviews help my inspiration bug!**


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